Herein are the facts of October

Orange is the sound of autumn, and the Hunter’s Moon can’t be photographed.

Leaves fall to the ground in perfect harmony with air, and these Mandelbrot fractals of time collect the memories.  Left alone, old fallen leaves protect the roots of the trees from the rain, and frost to come.  Nature’s crispy dry blankets.  Be gone leaf blowers, and let the older leaves protect!

Memories of autumns are sepia toned photos in shoe boxes hidden under beds.  They are daydreams of running through leaves, in faraway child memories.  Collecting leaves for art projects.  Crumpling them up in cold hands.

Thoughts of autumn beguile nostalgia for summer, a feeling of grief, and the time to move on.

There’s a second of sound, where the breath of the person and the thoughts they have, are in unison with the light retracting.

Some people can’t comprehend a never ending universe, while others wonder if it ever ends getting smaller.  What’s the tiniest it can be, and how can such an invisible virus do so much damage? 

How can it still be causing pain?

Friday 22 October was the day the Irish government promised the pandemic would be over.  All of the last restrictions were to be lifted, and normal services would resume. Obviously, this has not happened.  The cases are increasing, while the availability of ICU beds are decreasing, and at least one school has closed already, and gone back to teaching online.  Luckily, no one really believed the government when they said it would all be over today; and yet, we are disappointed.

Pretending everything is normal is the best Halloween costume we could wear.

“Hi, I’m Ruth and I’m pretending everything is normal!  I’ve spent the last 19 months concerned about the pandemic and just like everyone else, I’m a little disappointed it’s not all over yet.  Yes, let’s use that word; disappointed”.

Complaining about my shit is churlish when there’s been an excess death rate of close to 20 million people in the past two years, but complain I do.  Since it all began, I’ve lost one job, have a precarious rental situation, worry about my family in another country, and cross my fingers when I go to the supermarket.  I still don’t want long Covid, or short Covid, or mild Covid or horribly fucking fatal Covid.  I don’t want any of the Covids thank you very much, and I really don’t want to pass it on to anyone else.

On we go.

It feels a little damp in the mornings now, and the wet air lingers.  So I swim in the sea, and I jog slowly around the park.  I write, read, and collect the litter other people throw on the ground on my street.  I watch silly shows on the laptop and laugh at corny jokes.  I wait for it to be over, and I don’t know when that will be, so I wait for it to be over again.