Sunset: 5:51pm. Partly cloudy in New York with a high of 60 degrees and lows dipping into the 40s at last. Now begins my favorite season, the deep stretch of time when the landscape weighs upon the mind and perhaps the other way around. This is the season of choral music and childhood memories drifting through the heating vents, of headlights in the gloom and trees that look like old gentlemen.
Tonight I’m grateful I’ve returned to this channel in the static, writing for whoever might find it. The idea of an audience, real or imagined, forces me to move beyond fractured scribblings in my notebook towards complete sentences and, occasionally, better thoughts. I’d like to read more blogs. If you’re still broadcasting on the information superhighway like it’s 2004, please let me know so I can add your station to my feed.
