Another October Drifting By

Orange intersecting with pale blue is the color of late October mornings. I would divide from fragments of last night's forgotten dream, draw the canvass curtains and behold the vista of dawn cracking—echoed like smoldering clones in glass windows of neighboring skyscrapers. A spectacle like that makes your heart soar. It makes you feel like anything is possible, that goodness can happen. Cynic that you are, you still partake in the cosmic trickery, a painted charade brimming with hopefulness and enthusiasm. Later in the day your optimism will be clouded over, your heart would sink, your spirits dampened like expectation of homecoming presents wrapped in fancy trimmings that will never arrive. Then you realize that you've been had. Again. You try and brush off the lingering lints of sadness, smarten up, and embrace realities that ground you from your most fervent aspirations. Tomorrow, you console yourself, tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow the sky will be a more luminous intersection of orange and blue and time will be my ally. Then you fade in the evening crowd of pedestrians hurrying up to get home to the nighttime reprieve, cloaked in the warmth of someone else's love. You smile at the thought of it. Time. Only time can tell. But it never lets you in the concealed promise. Time is full of beauty and malice. Time is an untameable beast.



(Yeah, that's an old illustration I recycled because I am not yet home and cannot make a new one to go with this entry. Will replace it later.)