Sometimes the summer months leave me with a head full of what feels like dust motes for what seems like an age… just grainy rays of swirling sun-colored dryness moving in and out of the shadows, becoming invisible and then visible with irrelevance to anything. Because these are times that are bright yellow and all of the oxygen is gone in the stillness, so you have to gulp and pull for it, and it becomes a thing that must be endured until the seasons break; and then it feels like I’ve shaken off a long thoughtless stare into things like dust motes, into a hope that feels close to nostalgia. Fall always brings nostalgia. I don’t know why memory slows in the summer. I remember now that I always remember various school days in late august, and those slow lavender infinite twilights I sat and watched darken when I was a lifeguard at the neighborhood pool in silence and solitude because it was the time of season that the pool had been done and done by the neighborhood kids ‘til even they tired of the games, and so I sat there thinking, “Here comes the new autumn. What will it bring?” There was always a freshness gusting around and breaking up all that stillness, and I was always thankful.
Keeping as strictly as possible to my outings of only Twilight and Starlight this past summer, to avoid the heat, I didn’t go to a pool once, and it didn’t bother me. I did go night swimming once, in Athens, as it should be, after a dance party, downtown on an open air patio, and that was as it should be, too. And, then on the long walk home, while the sweat almost dried into my clothes, I had a long conversation with an old friend about old autumns in that fine city. And on that walk we passed by some apartment complex pool, and it wasn’t even a question whether that was the thing to do. It just was. It was one of those long talks, too, the kind I miss eversomuch, and I wonder now if they are ever even had with all of my friends I used to have them with who are now married – and I wonder what revelations are had between husband and wife, behind the closed doors of their new houses, in the great span of time in which I am not there for. We talked about God a little… God now, and God then. God and Women: They are always popular topics of conversation, a check-in of sorts, because they are the enigmas – How are we making sense of things so far? They are the possible needle points of compass.It’s good to revisit certain questions from time to time, the ones that will never stop rattling around, and if they do, it must mean that some central incessant engine room in a certain wing of our mind has run itself to death, or been shut down voluntarily to commit to some complacency, reduction ad absurdum, that leaves one the wheres of which we have all seen happen in someone we know, and we are never sure whether it is good or bad, but just that it is a setting of the sights toward a dawn opposite hope, to shiver under the stars wayward, and see whether the winds will run us ashore upon some sandy new frontier… or, There be Dragons.