He stands by the window, having drawn back the heavy curtains, looks out awhile and then with determination makes his pronouncement. ‘It definitely looks like fall out there’.
In the night somewhere, sky and air have turned overcast, weighing heavier and smelling more nuanced and thickly earth laden; wet. Last evening, the clouds high above the neighborhood rested brilliant white, similar to a Parish painting, with the light above the white puffy floating shapes nesting against astonishing blue; as if the glory of an Angel shone through; an Angel resting quietly and watching the streets from a heavenly tilt; noting the seasonal changes, our comings and goings.
‘I bought some critters yesterday; an apple critter for me and an almond one for you’. He heads downstairs. I sit up. A critter? If we are reduced to eating critters, then I am not giving the impending school year a second blasted thought.
‘Hey! Critters?’ I yell down the stairs. ‘You know…you know, those flaky pastry…things’. His voice fades and I can hear him, yes I hear it…the waving of his hand in exasperation. ‘Do you mean fritters?’ I try again. ‘Fritters?’ He responds. ‘Yes, yes…whatever…it’s what I said. They’re really good. Come down and make strong coffee!’
Minutes later, standing in the kitchen…’Autumn in New York’…I hum a few strains since I never remember the words; relieved at the privilege of returning to normal breakfast fare…
690 Saint Paul 