the breeze from my window is cool. i feel the change of season on my skin, and relish the warmth of my blankets. the light of morning leaks through the slats of my window shades and i close my eyes in hopes of warding off the inevitable day.
a list as long as my arm awaits as i put my feet on the floor. before i have had my tea i pay delinquent parking tickets. and now after i write this i must go to the hardware store for fluorescent tubes and mop heads. the glamour of my life is not lost on me.
i will walk across the bridge, and deliver my goods with gratitude and admonishments. a quick clock in and perhaps i will stop and write in the back room of the chain on the corner. before i cross the bridge again, to make myself some lunch, beans and rice. somewhere in there i will fold laundry and empty the cat litter. amazing how the mundane turns into such a feeling of accomplishment.
i will shower and dress for the evening in black. only to cross the bridge again, and create calm in the crazy of rich vegetarians dining in a three hundred year old building. and then in the cool of the almost fall air i will cross the bridge again. in the waning moonlight the river will sparkle and ducks will float in place as they bob their heads for food. i will watch from above, wrapped in a scarf, my crossing from pa to nj noted by painted borders. it is strange how every day i walk a course of history. what took washington and his fellow revolutionary's hours is less than a fifteen minute commitment. i think of that cold christmas night often as i saunter in the moonlight, and weave through the tourists and walk my commute.