The leaves were dressed in their brightest yellows and oranges and reds, dancing and happy on the I95 median north of Baltimore. There were so many of them, and they clamored and fought against each other in the crossing winds of the cars. Their autumn-colored celebration created a haze that was hard to see through. It separated north bound from south bound.

And from the re-assuring hum of my car, I felt sick and hypnotized by their careless swirl and eddy, and the heavy of some unexplained sadness.

Nighttime brought with it drinks and tapas and meeting up with an old friend in Chelsea. Lethe and the kind of laughter that sucks the wind from your lungs. And the next day unsure why, or where it came from. Where it went.

And then driving south through Princeton, more leaves, brilliant and amazing. Some still clinging desperately to the limbs that bore them, which were now brittle and aching to let go. The shadow of Philadelphia emerging, pale against the low November clouds.

Jumped a plane to Dallas, where my jacket seems strange and out of place. Where the homes still pump A/C. Where the leaves are still green. Where the air is heavier, because the party hasn't started yet. Where there's less to separate in here from out there.

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