Torrential Autumn Equinox

My window is open, only a little bit. The smell of rain; the cool, damp air; the sound of water; the darkness outside— they’re all here now, for a long time. Outside my window is blackness, the reflection of my indoor light. If I look out there I can see the outline of my neighbor’s giant maple. Only one and a half weeks ago I had stared out my sunny window, worrying for its leaves, which were partially crisped by the sun. Only a week ago, we couldn’t go outside because the air quality was hazardous.

Perpetual change. It’s the one truly dependable constant.

I’ve started a new nanny job which means less time for everything else. Yesterday I went to a farm with the boys and their mother. We picked green beans and pickling cucumbers and I gently snapped squash blossoms from their stems and piled them in my hands. Geese called to each other. The clouds above us touched edges, separated to reveal the sun, then gathered again; indigo, cornflower, gray. Their edges stretched like pulled cott…