I was thinking I might cut the grass today--mainly to "process" some of the leaves that have been coming down from the ash tree--but nahh. I'll avoid the mower for a few more days yet. Let the leaves fall.
It's funny how something traumatic, like busting your foot, can revisit you emotionally on the anniversaries. I guess it has something to do with the way the atmosphere can be similar to when the traumatic event happened--the slant of the sun, the clarity of the sky, the increasing dryness of things.
A lot comes to mind in mid-October, memories. Memories of concert seasons beginning, and the thrill of performance; playing my trumpet. Oh there are a lot of little anniversaries in October; people I've met; lying together in the sun; chewing persimmons and spitting out seeds. Leaves like stained glass. Timeless times.
Someone suggested yesterday that I write in my blog about my dead friend Pam, but somehow this strangely public-private place isn't right, and my words just aren't strong enough, or good enough.
She was the writer, the poet.
But I will say that October was her favorite time of year, and it's always been my favorite, too.
There is that.