Painting by James Jacques Joseph Tissot. Woman from yesteryear tramping through flaming leaves. Maybe I was once that woman, in another time, in France or somewhere.
There is a pang, kind of a tingling. A force of October, shooting through me and feeling like electrical charges would feel if they were a pleasant thing. It connects me to all things, whether they want to be connected to me or not. Neighborhood squirrel hunting your nut -- you're connected to me! Pregnant moon, birthing your moon child ---you're connected to me! Beautiful Portuguese accordion player, sending shivers through my car speaker, from a recording you made a long time ago, but now you are walking the earth somewhere, unaware of me --you're connected to me! You are the galvanic thread on my tongue. My skin sings of you. Because this is October! It's not just that I was born here - I was born to live in October, and my soul knows it. When the calendar finally flips over to the tenth month, I am home again.
Squirrellllllll.....!!!!!!!!! Don't you feel it?