When autumn rolls around, there are those few days in Oregon before it rains. Classic fall weather in every sense: crisper air, leaves the color of rainbow trout, and shadows cast by the angle of our sun. I get only glimpses of it during my brief moments when I am not sleeping or enslaved in an office building. Memories of my childhood in the Midwest around this very time of the year hang around like reminders of things I need to do, but know I'll never get done. This year, unlike the last several, I can sense Halloween coming long before its fanfare. All of the costume shops, haunted houses, corn mazes and seasonal retail are on the cusp of blooming. Before that happens, I like to pay a visit to the unexpected alter of the Halloween spirit that was mysteriously erected in the window of the abandoned Hollywood Video on West Burnside. For all the vagrants in this area, I've often wondered if anyone ever managed to get in and make it their temporary home. It's dark and empty, save for a couple large dumpsters filled to the brim with aluminum cans.
The other night I wandered by as a bus pulled up to the curb and released a big, pressurized sigh. Someone hobbled out and looked confused, which is typical of any bus stop in this town. And just then I noticed the window display of tacky, glowing Halloween artifacts. It was the first sign of the season, that the summer had finally run its course. It began to dawn on me that I could accept the change for once, if only the autumn weather would shine for awhile in its characteristic way. If only this period of time in life would slow a bit, so that I may re-live old memories with enough time and energy to generate new ones. Yet I am so passive in both endeavors, time pays no attention.
No comments:
Post a Comment