seasonal

Yesterday morning, on my six block walk to the subway station, I saw a ponytail laying on the ground amidst a pile of junk. Not a ponytail holder, mind you. A full-on ponytail. It was still there on the way home, and again today. This bit of discarded intimacy, when ranked on a scale of disturbing things found in public places, surpasses the used condom and comes closer to the bear paw mistaken for a human foot.

In another interesting commuter discovery, I found one of T's business cards laying on the sidewalk somewhere between 12th and 13th streets, just chilling like it was supposed to be there. Considering that it was a good four or five blocks from our apartment, I took it as a good sign that word is out about his business on our side of town. No, I have no idea how it got there, although we did hand out a whole bunch of the 4000 cards he printed this summer while we were at the zine fest this weekend. Can't wait to hand out a whole bunch more at the zine fest next weekend! (Hi, Richmond!)

On another note, I've been thinking about country music tonight. I miss it. I miss it the way I missed hip-hop when I left Durham and reggaeton when I left Northern VA. There are so many little ways in which Virginia is southern, ways that I've taken for granted having spent my whole life there. I never really considered NOVA to be part of the south, and most Virginians would insist it isn't. But the truth is, before it became a huge suburb, it was country. My family lived there when it was country. I remember it that way: scrappy tin mailboxes painted red with sloppy yellow numbers, rolling roads with barns on either side, that long straight stretch of route 50 and its straight shot to the Blue Ridge Mountains. As a kid, coming home from piano lessons, tae kwon do or girl scouts, I spent so much time trying to find the line where the mountains met the sky that to this day I still think of Shenandoah when I see the clouds at dusk.

I never thought I'd miss Fairfax, but I do. I didn't think I'd miss Richmond all that much, but I do. I've gotten used to missing Fredericksburg, in a way that is less like longing and more like appreciation. I feel certain that I want to go back when this is all over. Whenever that is.

I'm looking forward to the winter. The taste of fall is in the air already, and I like it. I like that no matter where I am, or how old I am, fall always comes, and always gives way to Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and wintertime. I look forward to the pumpkins and the cider and tea season. By January, I'll be sick of it, I'm sure. But by then, it'll be time to start looking forward to the spring. It's what I love about having four seasons. There is always a new one just around the corner. And for that, I'm grateful to be where I am, rather than somewhere less... seasonal.

Things are starting to feel just a bit cozy. Or maybe they aren't feeling cozy yet, but a part of me is just dying to get nestled in, to winter and to these new circumstances. If I can't get the one, I think I'm willing to settle for the other for now.