November

Channel surfing. 

Reading pages 1 through 9 in every book on the shelf.

 It is the CD player stuck in "intro". 

It's Ray Davies Destroyer. 

It takes your complete sentences.

 It infiltrates your dreams and leaves you stranded thirty years ago with a recent memory lapse.  

It is looking for emotional clues.

It is thought time to put it all back on the rails.

It is a shift in the center of gravity.

It is indifference.

It is getting stuck on snags that should be smooth.

It is an echo in reflection of this time no matter what the year may be.

It is wanting to be a writer, then a chef, then an artist, and an engineer.

It is the sound of cicadas 24 hours a day at a horrible decibel.

It is having those you love all around you.

It is being more inside than you are on the outside.

It is wondering if you look clear or fuzzy in the lens of others.

It is summer and winter on the same day.

It is progress with a new measure.

It is people who let go for reasons that will never be known.

It is being understanding even when you do not understand.

It is dreaming of your Cinnamon Girl but knowing that is not real.

It is knowing the path home but the channel keeps changing.

It is standing on soil that keeps disappearing causing the need to jump.

It is sedation, it is turbulence. 

You know what this is, don't you?

It's November.