You know what works great just after a lengthy run? A cup of coffee with a dash of cinnamon. The sky turned deep blue and I heard the boom and crash of thunder through the music playing in my headphones. Suddenly the dying rays of the sun fell upon a factory, illuminating it and the smoke spewed by a lone chimney, against the smoky backdrop of the sky. It was such a beauteous evening you know, the kind of evening where everything falls in place as you run and feel the brisk air in your hair. The wonky witches upon brooms who smile back at you from their perches upon trees and fences, the macabre lion heads that sit upon wreath-like bodies floating around in tattered shirts upon porches, the sun as it disappears behind a sheath of clouds leaving behind a streak of peach-lavender upon the tranquil waters of the Hudson, the old shop that says Furs by John Keffas and looks quite shut, the old bakery that declares that it has stood there since 1924. Whatever must Bayonne have looked like in the ’20s, you wonder. Did flapper girls walk down these streets looking all posh and hoity toity? I have my doubts but then who knows if one of them stepped into the bakery then and stared greedily at the display window stuffed with cakes that look like they carry a world of sumptuousness within their many layers.
The squirrels have become plumper I notice, elevating their cuteness quotient, and their tails have plumped up accordingly. Adi says they use them to wrap them around their bodies in winter. And lo and behold, today I caught one of them burying nuts in the ground before he scampered away. I zoomed in – because it was engaging, the way he dug with his tiny paws so very furiously and I did not want to scare him away. The result is a blurred photo but I shall take it.
Lately I have been seeingĀ #metoo do the rounds of social media. No I am not about to rant about my experiences because I can really rant and it just uselessly raises my blood pressure even now to think about various incidents in the past. Some things are better left behind I suppose. But in the spirit of it, there was something that bothered me lately. A blogger friend had befriended me on fb and started chatting with me. This was someone who had told me that I was like his daughter. Well, one day the chat took an odd turn and I was hugely discomfited. Now the thing is people know when they are causing discomfort. You know that they know and they know that you shall know it right there and then. It is all about testing out the waters. And I am all for giving someone the benefit of the doubt but I could not for the life of me go with it. I ghosted him. Blocked him from my fb. So yeah, if you are reading this, I would like you to know that I did not accept your friendship request because I wanted to set a honeytrap or because my marriage is a troubled one or that the government supports me in my travels…whatever load of bosh you wrote in your post and which I read. Which by the way vindicated my decision to block you. And this is just to let you know that it is not okay to abuse trust.
Now moving on, I did capture some photos of leaves that I cannot wholly identify. Can you? Are you one of those wonderful tree people who knows sugar maples from beeches and silver maples from elders? Then I would love to know what kind of leaves I photographed today. I often point out trees to Adi when we are driving, identifying them, and he mutters that I am having him on. I have an astute husband. Now I am busy placing the leaves I collected today within the pages of books, waiting for them to turn flat, a deeper shade of yellow and red and pink, and then some of them shall be ready to go on the door outside our apartment. All in the spirit of the season.
ARUNDHATI BASU 