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Saturday, July 15, 2006 New Jersey, in the fall. Purple, brown and orange. The sky, the leaves and the in-between. I've always been a bit melancholy; please understand by a bit I mean very, everything in Jersey has a tendency for excess. As such, I was the only kid who didn't begrudge the coming of September. Finally out of the hot summer months when I couldn't get to sleep, my t-shirt sticking to my hairless chest and the air outside my front door so thick with humidity it was oppressive, like the threat of a bully keeping me hidden in the cool of my mother's shadow. Enter September, a month painted with reserved tones and kept at moderate temperatures, all suited to match my disposition. Less than three months earlier, me and every other soprano child had smiled and, while thinking of swimming, camp, or otherwise (just not the person they were talking to), wished everyone a good summer and to "see them next year." Our year went September to June, with July and August a nebulous nevertime. Summer: endless nights, long days, we'd tire ourselves out before our parents had a chance to call us in for bed. September was the New Year, with new opportunity, just like the adult's January 1st New Year we were still too young for. Though we hated the homework and the domineering teachers, it was a chance to be social again, establish ourselves among our classmates. I was never a social climber, the normal, everyday interactions made me nervous, so I found great calm in looking out open windows with my chin on my desk, smelling the autumn air drifting in and watching the leaves I'd crunch on the way home fall from the trees. It was the only time of the year I was at equilibrium with the world. Jersey summers are too hot and the winters are too cold and spring never really materializes, so for about two or three months of the year, we have the fall to lend a reprieve. I miss the leaves and I miss the smell. I miss the perfect temperatures and my flannels, which always matched the turning leaves. I miss New Jersey, in the fall. posted by ezruh sellof at 1:33 AM 2 comments |
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I like this one, Ez.
Sorry you're lonely, bud. How are Portland bagels?
You know if I was in Portland right this minute, we could be seeing Kristin Hersh solo?
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