This October is squirmy.
I put my knee on it,
to hold it down,
to make it comply with
But October will have none of that.
We visited my family in Wisconsin.
October wriggled out of my grip.
My mom and her husband sort though hundreds of boxes of collections. They are moving. Assisted-living-2-bedroom-apartment and they couldn’t be happier.
I wish the American Way gave more aging parents this love.
There are more boxes to sort than there are years. I hate these boxes.
I stomp and whine
I don’t want to be faced with all the evidence of my bad decisions.
No one does.
October escapes me again.
It’s not a sadness,
it’s more of the resigned sigh
We returned Napa’s harvest bustle. Winemakers and vineyard workers work all night long. Grape trucks turn in front of you on the highway, dropping sticky purple fruit onto your lucky, lucky car.
The air smells like wine.
Hundreds of thousands of tons of grapes being squished within 10 miles of my house and it is in the air.
October found a secret way out.