Nearly Smashed Pumpkins

California's faux autumn hues seem charged by smoke from 500 south. We walk with near guilt, our ground having a slight layer of moisture, our canyons free from flames for the moment. Anticipation pumps me just between late afternoon and dusk, longing for something that mid-autumn California sunsets manage to dangle to summon up something that so cleverly intertwines with a mix of motivation and fear. I can't help but wonder what all this will look like barely two weeks from now as I return to certain routines yet eager to erase them and strive for something completely different. It's out there I am sure, sometimes almost visible in my own reflection in the windshield of an ancient Volvo that I want to drive me away.