You couldn’t ask for a clearer, more blue, more New England fall day than today. I was just up in Rowley having lunch with Mike Tucker. There was a blue clapboard house right across the road that was the picture of anglican comfort and good sense. Pumpkins are everywhere. They are lined up in rows on windows, stacked in the corners of stairs and driveways, and even squared carefully atop a roof. The trees are being stubborn about turning this year, but there’s enough on the ground to skitter along roads and sidewalks, slip into floorboards, and cluster around doorfronts. The air is cold, though, coming down out of Canada. With a high today of 50 degrees, it isn’t long before winter comes and the snow with her.
I was dreaming a ghost story when the alarm went off this morning: 6:15am. Caleb stirred. It is hard to believe, really, that the dark of a house, the solitary action of cleaning up, of sneaking around to find shirt and shoes, means that you gain entrance into the bright, knockabout world of daytime. Larger thoughts fill up the mind. They make Lynn-nore worry at the knots in her stomache. I can’t seem to stop looking at what is right in front of me: Caleb smiling a huge, round toothless smile, his blue eyes narrowing atop bright chubby cheeks; Kara pulling my fingers to show me the pumpkin seeds she picked out by hand; Lynn-nore leaning back against the kitchen cabinets telling me all about a phone call with her mom.
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