it certainly smells like fall, is the thought before a neurochemical light blinks on, alerting, flagging, and sending thousands of forgotten memories to the forefront of my mind in tumbled overlay.
it’s wet pavement and brick, I see, smell, surveille the wildland of recess playground, the rivers racing into the ocean, a dirty puddle in a divot of the concrete, that itself flows to the grate, unknown where’s beyond. the field and it’s wet grass, and clumped dirt and mud I’m tracking in, our squeaking sneakers in single file down the hallway, the scent hanging on in the crevices of these plastic coats, and the wetness in our hair.
it’s wet concrete and rusting metal in the back alley between the science and engineering buildings. i’m racing late, into the basement classroom, dodging the leaking ceiling that lets the smell of rain beat me to lecture. it’s a college shortcut, cloudy afternoon, to catch a bus at a stop that no longer exists, waiting under shelter as it drizzles, or meet at the plaza for dinner, walking just behind the group, watching streetlight sparkle off the parking lot puddles.
it’s closing the wet umbrella and dragging feet on the mat, settling on the couch after putting your bottle in the fridge, waiting for everyone else to arrive for wine night. it’s wafting in through the mesh window, your nose pressed close, watching the deluge in the backyard. it’s watching the rain come in waves in the garage, you and your best friend still sitting on your bikes.
these everyday memories, almost forgotten in my four-walled existence, that disappeared, unremarked. time moves life so far, so fast. fall comes and goes taking it all, and leaving the rain.
