For six months out of the year I work overtime, weekends included, racing through empty halls and rooms turning on faucets and turning off faucets. Hundreds of rooms. Thousands of rooms maybe. All empty. It’s like The Backrooms, except not (always) a liminal space. Usually it’s cozy and interesting, though some properties that are heavily rented tend towards a bit of a soulless atmosphere. Lots of cheap grey renovations hiding colorful rot from the 1990s.
I almost never see these people. Maybe in the summer, if there’s a problem, I’ll get called back to earth from the sea of summer clouds and then have to deal with them. Sometimes, this time of year, I think it might be nice to see them. See anyone, really. It does begin to get maddening, all these doors and rooms and stairs and switches. Rush rush rush, everything flying past, no time really to stop and savor anything.
Which is a shame, especially in autumn. Everything feels especially nostalgic this time of year. I can’t say why, but things that happen in the autumn- my whole life- it’s like they have extra memory potency. It’s the one time of year I always remember crystal clearly, going all the way back to the wood cutting days in the woods with my dad.
I think of my dad the most in the autumn. Him sitting in his work clothes at his little desk after dark, after work, grinding out some last minute paperwork or notes as dinner was laid out. I think about him working around the house outside on the weekends. Stacking wood. Raking leaves. That smell of wet leaves and wood smoke being brought down by a cold light rain in the blue light of afternoon dusk is a level of exquisite nearly unmatched.
Very soon we will have winter, and for me, a much needed respite. I can’t be so ‘on the go’ like this. I like to revel in things. I need to stop. Let my pupils dilate. I like to take things in. Deeply, not quickly. There are things that need thinking, and others that need doing.
Mostly, and maybe this is a guy thing, I just want to sit still, ponder Nothing at all, and let some pleasant sensory experience wash over me. A bath. A breeze. A blowie. Preferably in that order, though I’d settle for just a breeze tonight. Something that smells like wet leaves and wood smoke being pushed down by a cool evening rain…
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