It's in the air already, up at 5:30, outside, cool, you can feel it as you sip your coffee and watch the sun rise.
The despairing change of season, Summer to Fall, and while I love Fall I mourn the passing of Summer.
Fall, an evocation, an invocation - a summoning of old spirits, but now it's too early, it feels like death, the air cold, a rabbit on the grass and I fancy I can see that it's fur is starting to change color.
And I unpack, slowly, box by box, this new place not entirely empty, the ghosts of the absent owner linger in cupboards and drawers and I try to sort what they will wish to keep, what they will need, from what I can give, throw away. I do the same with my own possessions, if in doubt I will keep them, dispose of them later, but at the moment many things are disappearing, but there are hundreds of boxes and it's slow.
Laundry, wash, dry, fold. Go through clothes, what to wear, what to keep. Appointments to make, in a few hours it will be back to work - work, the job, work. The job after the 3 weeks of stress, moving, non-vacation, the job that pays the rent and kills the soul, Wipe the patina of dust from furniture, polish brasses, wax furniture, open a box, move from room to room, picking up out of place objects, carry them onto the next room, remember to grab this and forget that.
Boxes for the recycle, boxes of garbage, boxes for the thrift store, boxes to sell because money will be tight, how tight? Very tight. And I'm tight about my plans, must sell this, sell that, reduce, diminish, rid myself of ridiculous attachments.
And I am slowly mudered by the thought of these ordinary days.