This morning when I stepped outside to water my plants at 6 AM, the air felt like fall. The light was dim, whereas for months it had been full and bright at this time of day. During the night, a spider had spun its web over the leaves of my tomato plant. Summer Lauren had no qualms reaching through the fragrant stems and demolishing those threads, but today I couldn’t bring myself to destroy someone else’s home.
The breeze was chilly and damp. I slithered my bare arms through the tomato leaves to pluck the small bounty of fruit. I was relieved to stand in mist and coolness. I love fall, though its coming sometimes makes me exquisitely sad.
It’s been a strange summer. Without school, I feel anchorless. My writer friend Kate, who whizzed through Seattle to share a meal with me on her way further north to visit her sister, says I’m right on track with the post-grad blues. She’s two years out, about to publish a book, and finally starting to feel grounded.
I’m also unsettled because of our nation’s climate of hate. I know there are well-made arguments about staying and fighting, or even just staying and witnessing, but I am heartsick over what we know is going on and has gone on in this current administration, and I imagine we actually know very little about the whole of it. Just call me a conspiracy theorist. I am, not in jest, trying to think of any viable strategies of getting out of this country and into one where I feel safer, where I feel like my fellow citizens are safer. Maybe not permanently, but for a while. Canada is so close.
As is probably apparent at this point, it turns out I have very little to write about today. But I did want to sweep the cobwebs out of this corner of the Internet and say hello to you, and that I’m alive, and that I’m glad you are, too.