Early in the day, Ed and I take a walk to the market. A typical November market. You don’t think “bounty!” Instead, you notice the empty spaces, the absence of bright colors, the chill in the air.
It’s the kind of day when you’re thrilled to see brussel sprouts.
But the market seems strained. As if the farmers had to dig extra deep to bring even this much.
I pick up squash, onions, cauliflower, garlic. And tomatoes. And brussel sprouts. I’ll be cooking for one (and only one) in the weeks ahead. It will be a time of soups, prepared, then reheated. A time of early nights, and earlier mornings.
Ed’s flying off tomorrow (court time, in NY) and I’m envisioning days of sifting and sorting. Pruning the garden of weeds and dried brush (even as it wont really be a garden, let alone one with weeds, or with dried brush).
Walking to campus, I think that even though there are colors out there, they don’t make the world more colorful. She appears indifferent to the guy, he seems indifferent to her, and the bus rolls along, unconcerned about the season, about anything except getting the pack of kids back home on time.
I am happy that people whom I care about are just a phone call or an email message away.