Blank white October light pushes down the street. And it’s Monday. And the streets are nearly empty. And it’s not quite cold and not nearly warm. And the sky is a trick. An illusion. An echo of summer but it doesn’t feel like summer. And leaves struggle to hold on to the trees as October gusts. Eddies of dust harass my eyes. Everything shines without being warm under the brash bright white light of October.

October and Monday gust around me trying to clear out my dusty head.

Sometimes nothing to say and too much to say look exactly the same.

SS