october.

The last thirty days have flown by, and it seems almost like yesterday that we are back where we had started, a little more hopeful, and a little more weary. There is almost a quiet joy in the semblance of what was the last few days, a hope and a quiet expression of gratitude in the city with old friends returning to play. Perhaps because of that, my mood has begun to slide, and things have slowly regressed. But progress isn’t progress without a return to familiar places, even though everything has changed.

There is something in my spirit that I no longer hold, which I cannot fully put to words. As if I have finally given up, the spaces that I once held, with the courage to allow the wind to take me where it wills. There is something ominous about the way society has shifted in the past six months, and the other side may be coming sooner than we all realize. I haven’t had time till now to take stock of the space which I inhabit once more. A space of wandering, and going. A migration that has resumed.

I hold hope and joy to the spaces that September has brought with it, and left me to recall with fond bitterness. An innate season of busy, rest and everything under the sun. The winds have changed, and I feel perhaps the the inevitable is near. What that is, only the universe knows. Perhaps the inevitability of change, of new pursuits. Like a fish against the current, I feel my life returning to its own old familiar settings. The end is always like a new beginning, and perhaps this is the final end, an end that has been so long in the making. Finality in a season, and everything that comes with it.