Autumn Waning

This entry is part 1 of 12 in the series Issue XI: Winter 2012

By Antoinette Carone

Slowly I entered the darkened hours with only a flashlight.  It was a beautiful night!  The kind that only late October gives us.  It had rained two days before and the wind from the storm had forced the trees that lined the sidewalk to give up their leaves.  These now covered the yard and walk, and made only a soft squishing sound as I made my way through them.  The wetness of the leaves absorbed any reverberation my feet would have made and aided my clandestine passage up the porch stairs.  They muted the night sounds so that all I heard was stillness.

The moon should have been full, but wasn’t.  It had just begun to wane, so that part of its bright circle was compressed.  The night was not so bright after all.  It was still; there was no wind.  The air was cool and penetrating, carrying the odor of the damp leaves, cat spray and something else.

I knew that I had about an hour to get what I had come for.  I still had my keys. I was able to enter the house, but I did not want Marge-next-door to notice the light and either come knocking and interrupt me in my mission, or to tell him that I had been there.  So I entered my own home like a thief in the night.  He wouldn’t be back until after ten.  I could take my things and be long gone.

Still, I was anxious.  I could not risk the consequences of confrontation.  I will not tolerate abuse, physical or verbal.  So, pursuing my somewhat shameful method, I went into the bedroom, collected all my jewelry, my passport, the cash from the drawer in the hall table, our checkbook and savings passbook.  My clothing I could replace as needed.  Other things he was welcome to.  I could get more things, but not another me.

I safely exited.   The stars had come out and the wind was rising.   What a beautiful autumn night!  Everything around me was dying the light and shadows, with the scent of the earth carried upwards on the invigorating wind.  Dying.  The past was dying but with such energy that it could only come to life again.

© Antoinette Carone 2010 Eileen’s group at the 14th St Y

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