I am feeling spent and dry and cold. The air here today cleared from morning fog into an amazing, crisp fall day, and I felt such melancholy that I was jumping out of my skin. Ask Little Miss Thing.

There is, though, a thin hope on a day like this. Everything is going about its business: the leaves, the water, the birds, the timeless turning.

There is seige and softness in the air. There is subtle insurrection. There are waves of shivers and salvos of want.

A song I've always liked:

And when October goes
The snow begins to fly
Above the smokey roofs
I watch the planes go by

The children running home
Beneath a twilight sky
Oh, for the fun of them
When I was one of them

And when October goes
The same old dream appears
And you are in my arms
To share the happy years

I turn my head away
To hide the helpless tears
Oh how I hate to see October go

I should be over it now I know
It doesn't matter much
How old I grow
I hate to see October go
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Thankfully, I've still got October for three more weeks.