The rains came through this weekend and soaked everything, leaving a chill in their wake, like the whole neighborhood was built atop an Indian Burial Mound, the dead letting us know in their way that hey, your houses are blocking our view. We're all in the grips of varying stages of Sick, which also could explain the cold. Spectral or psychosomatic?
Or maybe it's the fall, frosty breezes the last defiant gasps of a dying year. We were out driving yesterday and happened to swing by the beach, deserted but for a few fleeced people out for a stroll, and of course the gulls, floating like barrage balloons on the incoming winds. When was the last time I put my feet in the water? Weeks? I like the beach in winter. It's like standing at the end of the world, cold sand an impossibility, a symptom of a moribund earth.
It's cold. Could be ghosts, could be shifting ocean currents and prevailing winds, could be the sun winking out at last, could all just be in my head. Whatever. I'm wearing a beanie today.