Should I never tell you...

To The Lady on the Train,

 

If I don't tell you that I miss you, do you know it anyway?

If I fail to express the way your beauty moves me, could you still see it from across a crowded room?

If I were to never again tell you that I love you, would you still feel it always?

 

I miss you.

Your beauty takes my breath. 

I will always love you.

 

Come what may.

 

The Man in the Station.

Autumn by the lake

To The Lady on the Train,

The change in the weather, the cooler temperatures, the changing and falling of the leaves - the feel of the air, and the change in the light as the slant of the sun lengthens our shadows - all of these things bring to me a melancholy and longing to both get moving and to settle in.

I can imagine us sitting on a blanket in a field that slopes toward a deep shield lake - rugged shored and dark. The day is cool but brilliant and we are warmed by the sun and another blanket wrapped around our shoulders. We are sitting together wrapped in blankets and I can feel the press of you as you lean against me, my one arm around you and your two hands holding my other hand in your lap.

The wind is high in the trees making them talk in a comforting and lonely whisper. The dark branches - some already bare, some still laden with fading leaves - wave and scrape the blue sky. It is well into autumn and the air smells of earth, rain, and even snow. It is clear here now, but there are darkening clouds in the east with an east wind pushing them toward us. The lake's surface is disturbed and the trees sing louder - it will rain tonight...

Without speaking we both know that we will linger here in the dying sun for as long as we can. The wind stirs the leaves as it stirs something within us. The seasons change and we must change with them, but for now we will cling to the sun, soaking up what we can in hopes that we will remember it through the winter. The warmth of your body against mine and the softness of your hands in mine will hold me here until the wind whips our hair and the first drops of rain send us from this place.

When finally we are forced from the lake to retreat to the warmth and shelter of the cottage, we will rise together. The cool air will fill the space between us as we gather ourselves and belongings. If the rains come hard and sudden, we will run up the hill to the porch hand in hand, laughing at ourselves. We will turn to look at the darkening sky, fast moving clouds, and the now black lake one last time before heading into the warmth and golden light. Cocooned by these wooden floors and walls, we will let the howling winds and wild black night fight it's way to a calm morning.

Here, we will stay until the first snowfall...

The Man in the Station

An Autumn Morning Moment

 

With the official start of Autumn the weather changed as if on queue. Suddenly, the days are shorter, colder, and rainier - the sun does not arc as high, leaving even mid-day shadows stretched before us.


Fall has come and in the grit of this city there are signs of the coming winter that cannot be ignored. In our early weekday morning, those of us who shuffle to meet the downtown streetcar are mingled with the remaining night time underworld dwellers. We are all stopped and our faces turned to the sky. All of us held frozen in a shared moment to follow the fast flight and call of low flying geese.

There is something unearthly, eerie, and primal in their haunting call, and we cannot help but feel the sudden urge that we must now prepare for the winter that will come. We all feel the shared stirring - our signal to hurry and to slow down. The message to take advantage of what warmth and light we have now must be used to full advantage, for it will not last..

A moment we have all stopped but with their passing so passes the memory of this shared experience. As the honking fades we all turn back to our private drudgery - each to our own little worlds.

And I wait for the bright lights of the coming streetcar.