the country I remember

(from october.)

it's autumn again. I always have approximately five used mugs milling about, and yet every walk into the kitchen puts me in the mood for another cup of tea. 

the kitchen's cold and the teakettle whistles
the J church rolls, and rattles our windows
there's no nostalgia here 
it's just now, baby, now

there are inadequate words for this year, for this autumn; we've all lived some version of it, anyway, and there are inadequate thoughts on all the things that happened, that didn't, that maybe will not happen again. I don't want to give it further time. it's time to leave it all behind and look forward to the things that are ahead.

it's colder this fall, and more sharply brilliant. the sunshine is brittle. I feel the always coming on, the always rising of the night—even the happiest days have a shadow on the edges. if I believed that's how it worked, I would be tempting the gods with these days' delight. 

this was a year of light and shadow, stark contrast and shattering. everything happened. I feel stretched in every way, and somehow still move, somehow still find joy in the morning. ready for a new year, though.

I know the beginning and end of the year are arbitrary markers, but I will be glad to begin a new one frozen and fresh. late, late winter nights I love to stand outside in the blue snow, breathing pure, cold december: clear my sinuses, clear my head, and climb into my warm, dark bed to sleep until the sun comes back. 

one day soon we all will be together

if the fates allow

until then we'll have to muddle through

somehow

so have yourself a merry little christmas now