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Autumn in New York . . .

. . .is often mingled with pain.

One day, at the Loaf, I went to the bookstore.

There, I encountered my friend, Adam, in the process of a wonderful project. He wanted to make a harmonica holder out of found objects in the bookstore -- pencils, binder clips, shelf brackets. In that moment, I dubbed my adroit friend, Harmonicaguyver.

Recently, he posted this lovely essay on his site about that sense of loss and emptiness one experiences when a good thing ends. I'm missing a lot of things right now, not the least of which is my mind.

Summer is over. The weather is cooling and everywhere I look people are binding themselves together like molecules. My best friend reminded me the other night that Autumn is my favorite season, a time of year when I thrive. And he is right. In undergrad, every fall I got a 4.0. I am great at fashionable layering. "I'll dispose of my rose-colored chattels and prepare for my share of adventures and battles." Billie sang that for me.

People who love fall are masochists because it's a season that is as much about beginnings as ends. It's a time when change creates great things and hurts like hell. And we revel in it.

File under: , , Harmonica.

link * Miss Marisol posted at 10:51 AM * posted by Miss Marisol @ 10:51 AM   |