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When my fingertips brush across soft fabric, I can feel their stubborn wish to stick to the threads like velcro. From the base of my palms to the ends of my hands stretches the invading, seasonal dryness. I’ve therefore made it a recent habit to carry a small tube of hand lotion with me to evade, or at least postpone, the possibility that skin will crack and bleed because of the cooler weather. It is not entirely difficult to believe that this year is on its way out, because 2024 has, to me at least, been in a rush to get behind us all, as if it wants no part in its existence. We are about one month out from the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, another hurried and abrasive thing.
Autumn’s chill has finally returned. The bugs are feeling it too, as evidenced by the small beetle that keeps crawling out of my bathtub drain in a way that reminds me of Sisyphus. Tea season is in full swing, the reclaimed time of steaming mugs. Contrails have never appeared more crisp. Air conditioners are turned off and hearths are filled with wood. Candles are lit. Two familiar appliances have made temporary residence a few feet away from the foot of my bed: a space heater and a warm mist humidifier. They share an outlet behind the television because space is limited, which means that I perform a balancing act every time I swap out which device I…
