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.