Music for Seasons

It is a strange summer. The weather is irregular. It’s been much quieter than usual. Pensive, even. As if the city is holding its breath. As if we’re all waiting to be thrust over the precipice. Every day that I wake and my world is still intact feels like an especial blessing.

Uncharacteristically for Los Angeles, August has been gentle as a memory. I have spent many hours collecting moments of this place that has been my home longer than any other place in my life. I have watched the leafy row of sweet gums flutter and the sun moves across the sky, where the especially dense power lines cut long and straight through the view. I have watched the squirrels and opossums run those lines with overstuffed mouthfuls of citrus and fig many thousands of times. I’m leaving this place soon.

I woke up and listened to Johnny Flynn today so I could attach words to the melancholy in my heart. They’ve cast him as the lead in my show. It is still summer, but autumn’s breath is already in the air. I feel it in my bones, differently this year. I’m tethering myself to earth with music right now. It’s the only thing keeping me connected in this pre-move limbo.

I will not watch the row of pear trees, where the squirrels raise their spring babies, bloom again. I will not hear the familiar rhythms of my good neighbors, with whom we’ve grown comfortable. Their children will cease to grow right before me. I will not know, in my sleep, where to walk so the floorboards don’t creak. I will not smile at the triumphant fig tree babies breaking through the pavement in the spots I know, I will not see how nicely that avocado tree across the alley filled out this year. This moment in my life is almost done, and I am trying not to hold on too tightly.

Every concrete crack and the branches of every tree, and all the tendrils and paws and squeaks and smells and pressures and ebbs and flows of my new place will be relearned. Then I will intentionally do this all again in five years, in our own place, maybe on the fringes of this city, maybe in the high desert, where a person can still hear their own breath and behold endless vistas, and where one can almost imagine being completely alone in this noisy world.

New adventures await, but all I want to do is curl into the cool cocoon of fall and watch the season change one last time in this place. Maybe it’s alright to stop racing and just be.

This is just another pretty song that came up in my playlist today and it feels like an open ending. For now, I’ll hold tightly until it’s time to pull anchor and let the current take me.

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