Lonely, but it starts to fade as soon as I recognize N watching the fog come across the water.  Her smile stretches from ear to ear.  We hug and talk about plantains and a small fish from Namibia that she’ll cook for her dinner tonight.  She says she will show me how to cook plantains many ways – it’s easy.

I start my walk.  I try to smile at everyone who looks my way, and I think back to a decision I made my sophomore year of college.  My freshman year had been a disaster.  Going in to my second year, I wanted to transfer and sat hugging a small pillow to my chest after my parents had helped me move into my single dorm room.  I vowed that I would make myself smile at everyone walking toward me on campus that year if it killed me.  I kept my vow.  By the second semester, I had met my future husband and best friends.

I like the evening walkers and runners who pass me.  It’s like we’re all in a club.  A pensive girl wearing black tights with a green heart on the hip meets my eyes and flashes back a grateful smile.  A lean-bodied older man wearing an ocean blue cotton t-shirt jogs by in good form.  He has a small tattoo peeking out from his sleeve and a kind expression.  A tall tan man with a neon orange tank top surprises me with a jaunty salute-like wave.  I glide on my feet, listening to an old cherished album of fingerstyle guitar on my headphones.

The cares of the day melt away from my ribs.  I allow myself to picture my mother’s face, my brother’s face, my father’s face.  They are the radio set on low in every room, friendly cartoon ghosts following me, embracing me with gauzy arms that trail away the moment I turn.  I stand in front of them, facing out.  They have their hands on my shoulders and they are proud of me.

At home, I sneak up on Harley lying in the middle of his comfy green bed, one large triangle-shaped ear cocked.  Two years in to our companionship, I know exactly how to snuggle him affectionately in the way he likes now.  Don’t touch the front paws.  No pressure on the hips.  Strong flowing strokes from the top of his head to his withers.  Broad scritches on his ribs.  Tonight he stretches in pleasure at my touch, making a low rumbling sound I’ve never heard.  His lips pull back to show the tip of one front tooth.  I find a rainstorm soundtrack on Spotify and we lie together in the low light of the living room.  I remember summer camp and tin roofs and beach towels damp and heavy.

Fall is almost here.  The quieter season, the getting back to more serious things, the tucking in for another winter.  My heart sings at the approach of cooler weather.  Apples.  Baking.  Turmeric tea with fresh grated ginger and cinnamon sticks, poured into my favorite tall mug.  Boots.  My long down coat I bought last winter.  More blankets on the bed.  That one Neko Case album I listened to so many times on the daily drive from Hallowell to Portland, up early for my 7:30am office job.  How I looked out the window and couldn’t believe that I felt this way, but yes – the colors of the passing landscape in November became more beautiful to me than all the riotous clamor of summer.