The Shift.

We had a mid-week weekend of reprieve, but autumn is back, nipping and cozying us down into blankets and scarves, but his eyes have gone steel having been so inviting. Is it even the same one? The time shift felt weighty this year, again, as late as it comes, an hour substantial. Morning feels like mornings used to, in grade school, a bright sidewalk straight up and onto the hill on Walker, where the alien walnut eggs slowly hatched day by day, and I waited for Billy (my first memorized phone number not mine, 782 not 764) and his mom at the T so we could walk together. Evenings start more sinister, and drop away winkaflash, leaving night to stalk in the wake.