The things that truly last when men and times have passed

This was one of those almost perfect days. I spent it with fleurdelis28 in Old Saybrook, where she has ancestral ties; we walked up and down the sea-coast at Saybrook Point, looked through gravestones in the Cypress Cemetery, and drove briefly through similarly ancestral Essex on our way back to Boston, where we avoided Woonsocket and determined to try for Providence next time. There was a swan in the salt marshes. We turned a corner and the air smelled of newly cut hay, and the cider that the earth starts to smell like in autumn, and the breeze from the sea. And I came home to Sirenia Digest #22, which contained "The Salt House" and greygirlbeast's beautifully onionskin "Untitled Grotesque," and I have no idea what I will do tomorrow. I imagine I have deadlines. It will be October, which is my birthday month, and tonight the moon was so immense and lopsided and smoky orange through the clouds, it looked like a satellite for another planet. Any other planet I end up on, it had better have oceans and fall.