The season is changing--not the literal season, but the omni-everythingness of the allabout. When I pick up the paper, when I turn on the news, I can smell the smell of crisping leaves, I can hear the cry of migrating birds, and I can see the sights of oncoming clouds. I see the house sparrows outside flock around the bird-feeder, but the feeder is out of seeds. A restaurant forgets to bring me my roti, and in recompense brings me a coupon for an entire buffet; a charming gesture, but it's part of some larger zeitgeist, the feeling that the rain has not stopped but the dark is falling. I can think of a dozen dawns for which I'm praying. Our dog, the one who is nearly 12, stood on our kingsize bed, barking, frightened for the first time in years, afraid to jump down onto the bench which lets her reach the ground. I receive e mails from nobody about fate and sex and destiny and wealth and .zip files which demons try to lure me to download. I turn on the radio and flip between pontificating sports commentators, metal songs about Jesus, and sonorous senators. My cell phone disappeared this morning--as usual, it will be someplace obvious, when I find it; but today, all the connections seemed lost, irretrievable. I signed up last night to write a 50,000 word novel because all I have left are words. I bury myself in arcane sub-issues of arcane regulations applying arcane statutes, but the people affected by the issues breathe in, breathe out, as if God had breathed the first breath into clay, and looked at it, and called it good. On my left and on my right, everyone has a simple solution, but all the pathways seem hard but necessary to me now. I touched the business end of a cigarette lighter once, to see if it burned even though it did not show a flame--I bore the scar for years on my thumb, a slight searing memory that all that corrodes is not aflame. I will take my throwaway cameras and I will snap at random, on the move--I will document this moment, because it is passing, and when it passes,the next moments will be very much different. Although I had thought I'd be travelling tomorrow, now I think I'll be in stasis, waiting for the next thing to happen, watching news reports about the insanities and perhaps buying a candle. I will make a sacrament of my candle, though I don't know the way. I will watch it burn because time is passing, and the smoke must rise and merge into dawn. Tonight I'm apprehensive, but I'm also thankful I have my wife, and a warm home, and a quiet place to hunt for hope.