Run for the Weirdos

I'm working though one of my out-of-sync episodes. Where I feel like I'm from another planet. These altered states used bother me. I feared it was a permanent condition, like I would start collecting stray cats and newspapers and never take out the garbage, ever.

As I've gotten older, I've realized separation is part of creative life. You're not going to be here-and-now all the time. And you can't predict when your mind will take leave over some story that works as a scene inside a novel.

But I'm convinced that autumn is an inside-out season for everybody. After the beauty fades, things get weird. Skeletal trees, dead leaves, a haunted holiday that's the second most commercially successful day behind Christmas. Our lively day of death. Of course it's in autumn.

As if to prove the point, a heavy mist cloaked the mountain today. I ran through so many veils of fog that I got lost. In my own neighborhood.

The cul de sac I didn't recognize offered a sign that read, "No Outlet." The house at the end was for sale. Nice house. Remodeled, the whole bit.

But I could see the problem.

Next door, a shiny black hearse was parked in the driveway. The car next to it advertised: "LIVE FIRE SHOWS!! FREE DEMONSTRATIONS!"

When I finally found my way back to my usual path through the cemetery (see post below), a large moving van had pulled up beside the graves. And here I thought you couldn't take it with you.

Rain has been falling for days -- downpours that flooded the fields --but a city worker stepped out of the fog to turn on all the graveyard's sprinklers.

I'm telling you now: Beware the Ides of November.