In the evening we took a walk. It’d been warm enough to strip down to a t-shirt in the thick of the day, but then the sky grew dark with wildfire smoke. I didn’t know until recently the bone-chilling feeling of a landscape shrouded in an angry, ashy plume. The light was fast-fading and we stepped outside with the dog, buttery orange leaves all in a fluster. Many of our neighbors have tacked up Halloween lights (think Christmas lights but in colors far more garish), and the sidewalks were flushed with the bulbs’ eerie, shimmering hue. With every step the cushion of leaves seemed to grow thicker underfoot. We were out in that small sliver of twilight when it’s dark enough to click on a lamp but light enough to leave open the blinds. You, a passerby on the sidewalk, are privileged to a delicious glimpse of all the little things your neighbors do to pass the time. Jacob says I’m creepy, but I firmly place myself in the category of Miranda July: “All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.” Then the wind picked up and we scurried home, closed the blinds, and devised our own way to pass the time.*
*ramen and Stranger Things, of course, what else were you thinking?
