We're having the kind of November weather that inspires total strangers to stop in the street and wonder aloud to one another--"Can you believe this warmth?" "It feels like September, doesn't it?" "Isn't it fabulous, won't last too much longer." "Might as well enjoy it while we've got it..." The kind of weather that makes you want to call everyone you know and say, get over here, come take a walk, this is amazing...The kind of weather that makes you say to the grumpy little troll in your brain, muttering about global warming, oh, sit down and shut up.
The ocean was wild two days ago, gentle yesterday, and riled up again this morning. The sky that roused me was milky and I woke thinking I was in a cloud--because I was, the fog lifting off the marsh enveloped the house and diffused the light. The early sky was so bright that I was surprised to see the sun rise thirty minutes later.
We are in a gentle fall--forgetting for a moment the aberrant October snow storm that destroyed so many trees--as if the seasons were reluctant to change places, taking just one more bow. We, too, are reluctant to hurtle through time.
I got to my desk early; too much to do. And then I stopped to take it all in. I've been working at this table for so many years that I no longer even register the slogan carved into its surface--a line by Jenny Holzer, that attracted me to the table when it was orphaned during a slow auction. I bought it not because I needed it, but because I appreciated it. I wanted to rescue it. I knew someday it would return the favor. I sat and gazed at the block-lettered inscription: IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY. That word, joy, gleamed in the light, as though picked out by the sun, and it sprang to life.
Yes, might as well enjoy it, while we've got it.