October™ | Central Park

This past Sunday was that legendary, perfect autumn day, impossibly sublime, crisp air, music in your ears, face full of afternoon light. All of us tried to work our superpowers to slow time, to make the day last but Monday still came, steamrolling that afternoon into memory.

I am back east now after 12 years in Los Angeles. You cannot convey to a creature of Southern California the fleeting magic of a perfect October™ day. The day is a wisp of smoke, soon to be hidden by clouds and rain, eaten by the advancing calendar. You have missed it. You need to wait for the great wheel to keep turning until October™ appears on the horizon again.

Angelenos, it does not matter what day it is, the month, the time of year, if it’s an El Niño season or not. Tomorrow in Southern California is a constant; it will always be in the 70s, no humidity, blazing sun. Put your flip flops on and burrito yourself. No hurry, no rush; it’ll be the same until the end of time.

I will take the cycle of seasons, even with the squalor of February and the thick sweaty terror of August. Only 11½ months until October™.

October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if the were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost–
For the grapes’ sake along the all.

-Robert Frost