falling November

I hear it like an echo. "I'm coming home tomorrow," he says over the line. 

And then he talks about Thanksgiving.  I can see a dozen days in tiny pieces.  They cascade through my mind like falling rain: dust on the road at fifth water, soft November light inside a tent,  long shadows cast down a field of sage, short breaths of coffee and applesauce cake... 

yes, I remember November.

Long drives and new snow.  Strong coffee and fresh baked molasses soaked bread. Left over turkey sandwiches hiked up a mountain to watch the setting sun.  An apple and a bottle wine hiked down a trail made of moon light and granite.

 He is planning his final return. He is plotting his escape.  Trying to rebuild us with the bricks of the road we traveled before.  He knows his landing point. He will return in October and we will fall in love in November. 

I think of Alice's Restaurant and that day in the parking lot of Silver Lake- the day I knew I loved him enough to try.  

I feel the ache of the cold morning in the shadow of Boulder mountain.  Studying for a neurology exam inside my sleeping bag wearing mittens and a ski hat. While outside the shelter of the truck BC cooked oatmeal and apple pancakes, drawing hearts and writing backwards words in the frost on the windows.

Falling November  10/02, mlb

Go walking on the edge of summer,

pause on wet mountains in tall grass, run through leaves of yesterday. 

Fall through fading light into a thunderous November. 

With snow that crawls across the ground,

covering the hillsides and filling the sky. 

Blue horizons and winter’s breath.

Drawn down from gray clouds and up from cold earth.

Stand beneath sheltered eaves, huddle in doorways and under soft sheets,

gaze with wonder through closed windows. 

Make your way in winds that rip and rise, through doors and across streets.  Mornings of quiet darkness in a frozen world,

where you move quickly or not at all.

Rest in comfort within the stark night,

with stars fixed in time,

listen to the building of a season,

the mounting of a storm. 

Be consumed by the pace of change from one to another and on to the next,

live without regret in a falling November.

   Chance 10/17/02 mlb

Through winters strong hold comes the breaking of chance, a light from someplace unvisited before.  A power not mentioned and gift long forgotten.  Though the woods there have changed, a thousand details lost to time passing snows and pounding rains, sunsets and morning light…