You v. The Spigot

You’re normally truculent and foul-breathed in the morning, but even the ubangi bangi car sputtering down the street can’t spoil a morning like this: a pastel yellow, peach and powder blue sky, and the world is frosted and heavy with snow.

And you finally got eight hours sleep and you feel rested and your schpilkas ain’t up yet.

And you just crunched around on the snow outside getting a picture — and proof positive that there is a smidgen of beauty in this world before the spigot opens and the torrent of shit starts to flow.

You could live in this world with a modicum of hope.

But you know it’s a cheap simulacrum, because later the demons and ghouls will appear — and you ain’t thinking about the kids dressed up for Halloween. No, you’re thinking about the people you depend on — leaders, neighbors, family, and friends — LIFE writ large ain’t this beautiful.

But you enjoy this sliver while you’re able.

This is Fall, at 7:09 a.m., on 10/31/2020. Jamaica Plain, MA. (31/31)

“I think writers need tolerant people around them. They’re prickly and strange and needy, yet they demand to be left alone.”

— Hilary Mantel / “How Writers Learn to Trust Themselves”