I walk to my car in the midnight light, and it is damn cold. Quiet. I glance to my left, down the hill and over the bay, at the lights from the Port. It’s a bleary mirage that reminds me of fireflies back in Michigan, delicately illuminating a summer evening. But already, it is October, which I have come to accept as the time of year when the sun sets too soon, the leaves drop with the temperature, and plastic skeletons sit next to carved pumpkins. I was never one for decorating, but I welcome the change of scenery at the grocery store entrance. Soon enough, the seasons will cycle again, and at the magic strike of midnight, the pumpkins and skeletons will turn into LED reindeers and inflatable snowmen, and the evening sun will be replaced by flashing bulbs strung from porches and rooftops. But not yet. I’m getting ahead of myself now. The year is winding down, sure, and tonight, so am I, back in my car, driving home. It’s far past my bedtime.
