This first full day of Fall feels nothing like it, but I know cooler days will yield to long walks at sunset and hot tea sipped under blankets. The place where I live now, where I've always at least half-lived, isn't situated in an area conducive to the kind of walks I'm talking about though. Around here, if you start wandering and plan to be gone for a while, the only things you'll really see are all the things you've already seen...and then you'll have to see them all again on the way back!
No, the walks I'm talking about have the potential to turn into surrealist dreamscapes that meander between the precious and the absurd, but somehow nothing is surprising. Instead, everything makes you smile: the people who barely see you, the wind that makes you push your hands deeper into your pockets and wish you had a scarf, the scent of colder weather on its way...
I used to take a lot of these walks when I was still at school, when I should have been doing other things or after I'd successfully submitted these things to their respective professors. Saturdays were good days for long walks; no one ever seemed to be rushing about, including me, but there always seemed to be something happening.
One of these Saturdays I set out in a light jacket just as the sun was starting to droop in the sky, just as its blinding face appeared around the edge of my windows, beckoning me to get out of its way. Dylan was singing "I Was Young When I Left Home" on repeat in my head as I walked out into the street, and hearing it made the twilight a little bit dimmer, my heart a little heavier, and my throat a touch tighter.
The beauty of Nature inevitably breaks my heart, solely because of its loveliness. I know it will change too soon, and I regret my inability to bottle it, to imprison it in my pocket, knowing that even that would never be enough, nor would it last; one Fall I kept a red maple leaf in the pocket of my jacket, but by December it was dust.
Back on the street, I let my feet putter to wherever they saw fit, fully confident of their abilities. Somewhere on Hitt Street I walked past a haphazardly parked car with the back door open. No one was in sight, no one was rushing between the car and an apartment or a storefront, and there were no keys in the ignition.
Rejoining the crowd on Ninth Street, I witnessed the behind-the-scenes rushing about of a Bat Mitzvah celebration. How did I recognize this Jewish happening you ask? Ah, well...the marquee at the Missouri Theater clued me in.
Turning the corner I ran into my first wedding couple outside the Methodist church, where they were about to get into their getaway car. I didn't see anyone from the wedding party, and so I must have been the only one to witness their escape! They didn't see me, but I'm sure they were OK with our sudden complicity.
Coming out of Peace Park, near the journalism school, I crossed paths with my second newly-wedded couple. They too were unaccompanied by attendants or photographers, holding hands. She was looking down, smiling to herself, immersed in indescribable happiness. Chin up, he was facing forward, ready to take on the world. I smiled at him, but I'm not sure what I meant by it. Perhaps I was being conspiratorial, or mischievous, or maybe just grateful for being welcomed into their reverie for a moment. Anyway, I couldn't help noticing he looked younger than I am.
A few steps past the couple I noticed a sign for some sort of nerd party taking place in one of the classroom buildings. There were people coming and going, dressed in Medieval costumes. The sign outside that had caught my eye just said "Troll," but I assumed they were related. I wasn't intrigued enough to investigate, however.
There were people playing football on the quad, of course, looking just like they were part of a photo shoot for university recruiting literature, but for once I wasn't cynical about the scene. Indifferent in the face of school spirit, I instead appreciated the stillness of the season and all the serenity it holds...and scatters as it moves along toward winter.
I returned home with stinging cheeks, a runny nose, and hair that smelled like I'd spent the last hour at a bonfire (my favorite). I made pumpkin soup and had it with chamomile tea and honeyed toast from a homemade loaf of bread, sitting with Sam while she worked on an art project. I was sad that my walk was over but happy to be warm and joking around with my best friend ("This honey bear is so damn happy!"). But even then I knew days like that and shared moments like those would be over too soon...
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