– It was a Thursday. The clouds were scattered in the sky the way pillows remain. Stilled, after a night on the battlefield of slumber, after hours of twisting and turning in the dark of night. They greet the morning light in the same manner. Soft white mounds with expanses in between. There was a darkening in the sky, amidst the bright blue stretch beyond the white bulbous forms. The air was beginning to turn, the way it does after the last embers of the fire are suffocated and their absence becomes filled and swept from memory. The scent of time’s transition blew its presence into awareness, as the warmth of home admitted its weakness and the door retired its defense against the world outside. Then, as if synchronized, at that moment of weakening the rain drops began their free fall. It was unexpected with so much expanse of blue between the clouds, but they began to fall. With their fall they decided the struggle of transition, and as if they had been droplets of lavender, of jasmine, or of autumnal decay, with a sudden burst, in a cascade, they collided and exploded and washed away the day. Leaving in their wake what they had brought with them from that space beyond the heavens, where the alchemy of days and time, seasons and their scents, as well as lavender and jasmine issues from. And there amidst the rain streaked day, I stood between two worlds, others washed away. It was on a Thursday, I breathed in the first scent of fall.
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