Beginnings and Endings

Tonight, I had an after-work drink with The Professor. I think it can best be categorized as a "Happy Thanksgiving, sorry we weren't a love match" drink. And the funny thing is, that was probably the best conversation we've had. We ended up talking about nothing special, but we walked down the sidewalk, arm in arm, and laughing against the bite of the November cold that neither one of us was dressed for. Perhaps this is just the end of the beginning and the beginning of something better.

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I met up with a friend last night...beyond a friend, really. Someone who's been part of my life for many, many years in both person and spirit. It seemed as though we had found an ending some seven years ago when we fell incommunicado. But instead, I find that our story goes on, somehow the words still writing themselves despite the silence. It was just the end of an era. A new one has begun, seemingly right where we left off the last sentence.

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The fall was unexpectedly beautiful this year. Everyone said that with the drought, it would be less vibrant. Instead, the landscape shimmered with deep ruby reds and luminescent yellows and fiery oranges. The air cooled and crisped; it all seemed so refreshing. The color somehow alive and hopeful. But the leaves have since dried and fallen to the ground, swirled across the browning lawns, and whispering in the wind. These scuttling voices are cold and sad and lonely. And so autumn dies, and winter begins.

***
The year is dying. And so much dies with it. For just a few more short weeks, I'll be able to say that Ronnie was alive this year...and then we'll begin another year. One that he never lived to see. Between now and then are the holidays, and I'm beginning to experience The Tiny Tim Syndrome...seeing that empty chair alongside The Ghost of Christmas Future. Only, we won't wake up. We won't get to beg the Ghost to take us back and fix it. It is broken. And it is over.

This is the beginning of the end of this year. This is the beginning of the holiday season and the end of the grace period where things seemed to be easier. This is the beginning of another wave of grief and the end of the calm before the storm. This is the beginning of the Advent and the advent of a sorrow we cannot hope to overcome.

May this be the beginning of the Peace that Passes All Understanding and an end to the despair that clings to everything.

Winter Drive

Weak winter sun, a pale yellow egg yolk in the eastern porcelain sky. Lacy stamp of a half moon in the west. Cragged limbs of a tree filled with obsidian crows, eyes beady and glassine against the cold. Last vestiges of woodsmoke curl through the tight air. Bitter breath in tiny clouds after cautious sips of hot coffee. Skin dry and papery in front of the heat vents, fingertips numb - where are my gloves? No sunglasses this morning, crinkle my eyes against that thin creamy light flickering through the slats of pine trees edging the road, marking each second with light and shadow. Trees along the downtown streets strain their bare fractal limbs against the sky - now tinged blue or pink, the sun growing orange and somehow closer as I turn past the stacked brick building. I could keep going - keep driving in this solitary winter landscape - but I shut off the motor, go inside.

Snow: Southern Style

It doesn't snow much in these parts. If you're from a part of the country where snow is a normal occurrence, and you've been lucky enough to experience it in the south, you know that we buy milk, bread and eggs, and take cover in the shelter of our homes. We do not, under any circumstances, attempt to travel during treacherous snowfall, particularly if accumulation exceeds half an inch. That's why I was marooned at Justin and Eva's on Saturday after taking refuge there following a day in the ATL office.

Snowfall started early Saturday morning and continued through the afternoon. And it was beautiful, deafening snow, soft and powdery, falling in big papery flakes. Enjoy.

Chasing Away the Winter Doldrums In Style

I read Meg's blog this week about how February has her down. I agree...it's the shortest month of the year, and yet, somehow the longest. It's the end of winter, and the anticipation of spring is almost tangible. Even the days at work lately have been unbearable...but maybe that isn't so much the weather. Anyhoo. I decided to fight the blahs with a little fake online shopping. Behold the $651 Manolo Blahnik open-toed Orsay sandals. Deelish.

In Good Company

A violent storm arrived in the wee hours this morning, buffeting the windows and shaking the house until the bed rattled. But in its wake dawned a perfectly sunny day in the mid-seventies completely out of character for early January. Despite the desperate need for me to tend to my long-neglected apartment, I opted for a quick run to Dunkin Donuts for coffee and a healthy breakfast of chocolate frosted and jelly donuts. I took my morning fare out onto the porch for some reading and dozing in the rocker, amused that I could be wearing flip flops and a tank top in the winter.

Kudzu and this little green fellow joined me for a time. Kudzu was very earnestly watching a mocking bird in the tree at the opposite end of the porch. And the lizard seemed to be seeking a nice place on the stucco to sun himself. Photos courtesy of my new digital camera - which will be used especially to provide more delightful photos to the blog.

Today was one of those days where - with the exception of a couple of phone calls and the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts - I was in complete solitude. Alone in my little world on the porch, with my book. And for the day, it was nice to not have to hear my own voice so much and live instead with the sound of silence.

November

November is my least favorite month of the year, save that it brings Thanksgiving. Somehow it seems to be more of the end of the year than December, perhaps because December is so filled with holiday celebration that it distracts from the ending of another year. November always seems bleak...and tearing off the page on the calendar today that brought me to November 1 made me shudder. And so, a poem for today.

Every year, November

rain comes in thin
metal sheets tearing
last leaves from trees
pins them to sidewalks
mapping a path to winter

grey comes to shade
clouds like slim boats
hung on steeples
needling the skies
to hold autumn in place

night comes quickly
after noon to hurry day
away, slow blooming frost
covers the ground, windows
with the dying breath of gods