I found myself walking around Ithaca today, looking down. Like, at the ground. Looking down, the way I would look down when it’s raining, or when it’s windy and cold and I’m just trying to make my way through the weather and get to a more comfortable place.
But today was a fine day. A pleasant day. With a mixture of sun and clouds. And it was fairly mild. But still, I was walking around, sipping a soy latte from Starbucks, in my favorite town, and looking down. At the ground.
The ground was littered with leaves and candy wrappers from Halloween. The trees are mostly bare now. I was wearing a coat. The sun was hanging low in the sky and it really wasn’t that late in the day.
It’s November. November is a pen and ink drawing..
Everything seems on the brink of bleak.
I am starting to feel the lack of light, the stinginess of the late afternoon.
I feel the contraction of winter starting to pinch my spine and round my shoulders. I feel the pull of the ground, like Persephone being called back to the Underworld.
I am starting to look at the ground.
I don’t want to go under. Not yet. Not yet