Yesterday was like today, was like the day the year before, and before. We don’t notice going from 43 to 44 any more than from 23 to 24. Maybe you can see a change with five years, or maybe not. I hope you can at ten.
Seattle has been beautiful, and warm. Free of summer’s weight, the sun is slimming down, dropping the flab, getting fit for its winter closeup. A fire warning is up for the dry and cool air. Desert air has come: warm days, cold nights, the heat fleeing up the sky.
Severe clear is what this is called, at least if you’re flying a plane. I associate it with winter, and snow, and stars that for a few freezing moments don’t twinkle. Now, of course, we associate it with something else.
Bus goes home across the bridge. Last year was no different. Was it different ten years ago? Living things age differently. If we all disappeared and stopped driving on it, the bridge would last eons. It would leave our timescale and join the sun’s, blind to each other as time ground them down.
I am glad we are forgetting, the TV not showing the fiery video over and over. I am glad this is just a bright day with a cool night and a big memory we can remember, or not.