When I woke up this morning, I realized it was still raining. I listened to the good noise of the drops meeting the leaves and the wet ground. On a morning like this, the light doesn't so much shine in as it does glow outside, accidentally illuminating indoors. I was thinking about this unfocused quality when I noticed that it was a bit chilly, in that it-might-be-a-fall-day way, as opposed to a we-turned-the-ac-too-low way. I tested the air for fall qualities--the first autumn air feels heavier, thicker. It smells nostalgic. It lights up my mind and makes me think that nothing can go wrong in my world while I feel this way, and that everything is possible.
Melvin knows the instant I awake, so I had a her little motorboat purring in my ear while she rearranged my hair for her own nesting purposes. Mark was still asleep next to me, snoring a little bit, with his hand on my hip. I cast out for a few random memories, and these are the ones I got. I remembered lining the hall closet in the Jackson house with flower-fairy sheets so that my clothes wouldn't snag on the rough ship-lap walls. I remembered running through the woods on a perfect bright fall day, blissfully unconcerned with things like ticks, spiders or snakes. I don't think I ever saw a snake by myself in the woods. I knew I was supposed to be noisy to scare them away, and I suspect I was usually pretty noisy. I remembered the Penny Patch, and its earthy clean smell.
This air, this light, is associated with the best parts of my childhood. It is as if it brings a huge fluffy comforter forward through the years, wraps it around me, tucks me in, and kisses me on the forehead. "See? Everything is fine." There is endless possibility and promise in the sweet chill, so slight it doesn't even cause a goosebump. The past and the future, filtered through this light, are in soft-focus, a bit unreal. NOW is perfect.
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