It was fall, the way it had been summer—confused and milquetoast. Not a date on the calendar, not an astronomical event but a whimper carried by slow winds. A home cast in silence as hours passed. Wet leaves on deck chairs. Clockwork transmutations hard and impending, despite the disarray.
And yet we remain motionless, sweetie. Our house stands and ferries us through.
It was fall and I wrote a few words to steady myself and assess the road ahead.
. . .
There’s so much I need to blog about—but October is insanity. I wish time could be suspended. We have a new issue of KAGE out, where I’ve published a short essay with recent Stockholm images.
I’m headed towards such a backlog...
P.S It was Thanksgiving in Canada so this feels like Monday. Jacob turned 14 this weekend. Whoa.