secaucus junction

if there is a rule for 2009 it is that when i ride back on the train from newark airport it is the dawn of some enormous chapter in my life. in spring it was the same as fall, high white clouds dotting the robin's egg sky, a slowly dwindling afternoon, sun just high enough that you won't get that sunday melancholy; those thoughts of being at your desk at work the next morning.

at least in spring i had no idea what was ahead. she was like a storm far off the coast, with a path leading directly to me but no one could forecast it. i didn't even know she existed.

in fall i knew everything i had to. i knew where i was going. i stood in the breezy space between cars and stared at the passing tall grass, fingering my mobile phone in my pocket restlessly.

she calls as the train sits in newark penn and we speak briefly. she never sounds emotional on the telephone (maybe even in person) when she speaks. there's no lilt, no sweet goodbye. i mean she's not like a telephone operator or anything... i just don't hear the sounds i'm used to.

i know in an hour i'll be at her house, with my bags and my jacket. sitting on her porch in the nascent autumn cool. it's still warm enough to pretend it's summer, but the sunlight is different.

i remember one evening we stood in some darkened corner, close. we wondered why the sunlight in autumn looked a certain way.

the train pulls off and again we're sprinting across the industrial wasteland of north jersey. first sun i've seen in three days.

it's going to be beautiful when we go for a walk, i think.