s u m m e r
eight minutes
The nights have been cold here lately and I'd swear the full moons are larger. Low over the horizon full moons requiring all my attention and holding every last bit of desire.
The days are still hot. The sun has broken for the first time in weeks and the east is still in bad shape.
Very little has changed here.
The heat came on in the apartment the other day for the first time. Someone must have complained it was cold one night last week. It usually takes a couple days for the old boiler to fire up and push water to all the radiators on the second and third floors.
They've been popping as they fill and the steam vents hiss all hours of the night. The nights are sweaty and it's best to leave the windows open and the fans on. Candles form the mood this time of year and I'm glad it's almost Halloween.
I can feel a little bit better about the costume I wear.
But what I want from you tonight is eight minutes.
That's all.
Back in the eighties when I would drive home late at night from some party or friends house or dead end suburban street I'd always feel a certain way.
Like it was more than just the end of a night. Like it was the end of something far more significant. And I don't know why exactly, Fall always invokes that feeling in me too.
More than the end of Summer, not quite Winter. A time of nostalgia, and since I'm struck with far too much of that all the time anyway, the Fall is only that much more surreal.
Usually I sleep it or drink it away, but this Fall I've too much to do. I must walk the waking hours and some of the ones I should be asleep and I must live.
The result is that I live in that feeling. That moment where something is always leaving and the cold is always on the verge of bringing goosebumps to your arms.
The closest I can come to relating this feeling is in music.
And the best piece is this one.
So all I ask is eight minutes.
That's all.
goodnight 10.10.99