The weather has turned: back-to-school has deepened into autumn. Yesterday’s rain was torrential enough to make you wonder how the pilgrims survived – it lashed down so hard on skylights and cars and wet roads that you imagine a small wooden structure would be flattened. If the humidity of the past few weeks has been a thought, the rain was its corollary action, and realisation. Now there’s a delightful crispness – my favourite season. It’ll be hot in a few hours. Even the wind sounds different: the leaves are dried out, and turning – many are already red – so they give the wind a sort of rattly sound. (Sounds: the crickets are quieter now, only a few hardy ones left. There is a cardinal flying around – I saw him – perching on the railings and branches, cheeping his harsh little cheep. The cars sound louder and more whishy than last week.)
But last night, driving home from Shady Glen – the ice cream and cheeseburger place that sounds like a cemetery in a John Cheever book – everything was still damp and wet, and creepy North American mists wrapped themselves around the tops of the trees, the streetlights, the little houses set back along Route 6 – even the air. Every air particle was wrapped in a creepy mist particle and visibility, other than of ghosts, was low.
There is more along similar lines in the blog. Here is, for example, the first post that I read from Ms Baroque which convinced me that I should add her to my lit blogs collection.
If you like reading this kind of prose, this is a blog to bookmark/add to your feed catcher. Happy reading!