Sure, I'm eager for this crazy month to pass. Work's been slapping me around and shows no sign of relenting for the next couple weeks.
Then everyone I know is getting sick: Fevers, fainting spells, appendicitis attacks, blood clots, nerve damage, and unexplained heart palpitations.
And a wonderful public-art group in the neighborhood got burglarized last night. Every last laptop, all their accumulated archives, spirited away in the night.
Enough is enough, October. Be still your wrath.
On the other hand, we've had some early glimpses of winter, and
I'm. Not. Ready. I'm craving a nice, slow winding down, but also a quick sprint to the finish. As they say, you can't have it both ways.
I can't help but notice I'm not alone in my resistance.
This is our rockin' neighbor Annalise. She's fashioned herself a secret perch on top of their detached garage. Every day I come home, and every day I hear her tiny voice chirp 'hello!' from the trees. She's the new town crier, watching over her corner in case something interesting happens. Or maybe she's just hiding out, flying solo in the world except when she feels like announcing herself. And she'll keep returning to that spot until snow and ice dictate otherwise.
Or behold my valiant eggplant, trying to grow despite two hard freezes. There's not an ounce of nutrients left in those pock-marked leaves. But still she hangs on. And so do I, wondering what one does with a miniature eggplant, since I know I'll have to harvest while I can still close my fist around the fruit.
Last Halloween was warm enough to sit on the porch and give out candy. I'm holding out for a repeat performance, even as our 9-year-old neighbor Rose strategizes over this year's costume: a cup of hot cocoa, which I have to admit doesn't sound so bad either.
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