17.09

Menar and I one summer long ago.

The changing of colour of autumn foliage takes place in several parts of the world. However, there are some that claim the most magnificent spectacle occurs at the top of the Northern American hemisphere. -Particularly (in the United States) the Northeast corridor and slightly south along the Appalachian mountain string and some parts of the Midwest. O. And Canada. Today, Montreal foliage is drenched with rain and although autumn has not quite knocked on the door it is standing on the doorstep, waiting to convert me into a scarf-wearer. I can see the brochures through the little eyehole; for seasons always come with a proselytizing agenda.

I know that when the greens change into 'hot' colours I will be walking up Rue Atwater. And, like every year, I will notice the mountain behind my apartment building turn into a giant orangey-brown mole on the earth. The winds will change and the harsh breath of the North will chill my bones. More and more people will take the busses and metro and the sidewalks will quickly become abandoned. There. At that moment, as I am walking up this road, I will have my way with the curbs. I will swiftly walk up that sidewalk alone, in peace, will tie a scarf around my neck, will breathe slowly, and count my steps in a straight line. I will think. Thoughts as clear and crisp as the air of forlorn nights of fall.

I remember as a child, this time of year was always a period when one would reflect upon ones summer activities with friends. It was a period to delineate who exactly of us all had the best summer. But the leaves coloured and fell and we forgot about all of it and grew obsessions for Halloween costumes and pumpkin picking -warmly accepting the cooler weather and celebrating it. Respecting it.

These days, all I can think about is summer and how much I will hate these walks home.