October winds are strange. They are loud and strong, fierce and violently brisk. They make the trees shake and the ginger leaves smack the windshield. October winds come in colors: yellow and red and auburn. They’re my favorite kind of winds.
I drive, remote from my barred thoughts and watch the sky turn colors and the leaves smack my windshield. A single, crumpled, dusted yellow leaf lands right between the wipers. It’s stuck.
Everything around me seems to go at wind’s speed. I feel like I’m going to be lifted up, inside my car, and tossed at another end of town. And I wonder what would happen to me, if I were up that high, lifted, and detached. I wonder if I would ever fall back.
I remember when I first started driving I hated doing it alone. I didn’t know the roads yet. Didn’t know how long it would take before I’d reach home. And then things changed. I got used to the sound of the wheels. I got used to people-watching from the rear-view mirror. I found my favorite soundtracks depending on where I was driving to.
I like the alienation inside the car. I like that I can watch trees and think out loud. I like that I can think that the winds can lift me up at any moment,
Until I am high up.
Never falling back down.