The season turned this week and somehow it caught me by surprise. Again. You'd think after living through this twenty nine times before I'd be in the know, but no.
It's easy to mock us city folk sometimes, and our concrete lack of nature, and our lack of understanding of the natural world, but even just looking out my living room window at the New Jersey cliffs across the river, at the vast blue sky arching over the little plaza in front of my building, at the tiny fragment of the George Washington Bridge peeking out between buildings across the way, you can tell. The sky is a different shade of blue today, somehow, than it was this time last Sunday morning, and more beautiful, and more sad.
Today is the Medieval Festival in Fort Tyron Park, a few blocks north of my apartment, home to the Cloisters in all it's medievalish glory. I'll be traipsing up there this afternoon with my brother, my boyfriend, and a random assortment of friends congregating to wish my brother farewell & good luck. He's leaving tomorrow, you see, after living here for the last two years or so, almost to the day, bookended by this Festival that descends on us every fall. And I'll miss him.