October 2008

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.

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