the end of a season

There is frost in the field. A low mist hanging under the watery morning light.  

It whispers, time is up.

I come in cold with muddy shoes and wet cuffs. I  pour myself a cup of dark coffee & call BC.  He is standing in the red Moab dirt looking over the job site. 

The first in a series of final inspections is scheduled for 3:00 today.  "We aren't ready," he admits. And yet the list of things undone were not those on BC's list but those on the homeowner's: counter tops, hardware, sink basins... Unaccustomed to the time tables of construction the owners were caught off guard despite BC's prodding to 'get it done'.

It really is only a matter of days now.  But inside those days is Halloween. Beach and I have decided to go trick-or-treating alone forgoing the large group we normally run house to house with.  I figure we are both sick of being alone in a crowd and would rather just be alone, together. 

BC and I officially moved into the house on 10th West 10 years ago today. I mark the anniversary with a breakfast of waffles for Beach. Who tears them into strips & dunks them in syrup. She licks her fingers clean while asking, "Did we really move in so close to Halloween? Does dad remember that?"
"I'm not sure what he remembers. I'll ask him."

  

 So now we wait.  

And the season says, time is up.