DUSK

She and I were an inexplicable pair.

Her in flip-flops and I in gloves in the same weather. I'm sure she noticed it. I think she found it bemusing. It just embarrassed me, really. She had some kind of faith in me, or maybe it's better put humbly as patience.

We were closest in the fall. The season felt so crisp, so bright, so sharp. But even these, my favorite moments, I hardly remember so overwhelmed by their ending. Suddenly we did not speak to each other.

I have always been plagued by the compulsion of overdressing for the winter early. But you never know leaving your door how long you will be indentured to your duty out in the world, and so you justify lugging your umbrella and tolerating a heavier coat. All these times you congratulate yourself for your steadfastness as the skies split or the wind bends colder or the night comes upon you sooner -- but always wondering, does true joy live in danger?

I became ashamed faced with her levity. She seemed to own no jacket thicker than a summer evening. I can not be positive whether it was for her own vanity or if she truly shrugged at storm clouds.

For all the beauty that Autumn is it must be the season of dusk.