When I threw open the backdoor this morning, the moon, nestled atop a black cloud in a slate-colored sky was there to greet me. Waxing toward fullness (tonight) it was huge and bright and looked almost as if I could reach it, if only a threw a ladder onto the deck. It was ominous, but beautiful.
It’s an image I wish I could have captured. Suffice it to say that if it hadn’t been a workday, I’d have been setting up a tripod on the deck in an effort to try! I could scarcely take my eyes off of it as I carried the trash to the alley. When I made a second trip outside a little while later, I had hoped to see it again. Sadly, it had slipped into the final remnants of the night sky, chased off by approaching daybreak.
I can finally feel my fingers again. I greatly overestimated the temperature, or, more accurately, how it would feel to me. It’s in the 40s, definitely not a temperature to complain about based on recent weather. But since it’s going toward 70 today, I thought a ¾-length sleeve and a rain slicker (we could get rain as early as the evening commute) would suffice.
I dropped the car off again this morning, only today I had plenty of time to catch my regular bus. No two-block mad dashes for me. Instead, I was able to take my time, and sadly note the decay of the neighborhood, something that was nearly as chilling as the early morning air.
I’d gone to grade school about four blocks from here, a building torn down nearly 20 years ago. I hadn’t thought about that place in years with its turn-of-the-century brickwork, marble stairs, and always shiny hardwood floors. It made me sad. Architecture was making an indelible mark on me even then.
Watching the bus lumber up the road was infinitely comforting, both because it could ferry me away from this post-mortem of a neighborhood and shelter me from the cold. Today, I needed both.