An Autumn Vigil

To look around me, it would seem that nothing had changed. The world turns on, the autumn leaves again take on their russet hue, and even the lonely matriarch on the hill keeps an iron grip on the town. There is a crispness in the air that would in normal circumstances be comforting.

But tonight—tonight I cannot ignore the insidious chill. I sit alone—in the dark, on the hill, in my car—with the loss. It chokes me from the inside out, reaching up through my ribs to grasp at my throat. I can hear, in the distance, the sound of a radio. Young lovers have always come here to conduct their secret business; it seems they come here still. I used to smile at their furtive antics, the earnestness of them. But tonight, I am angered by them. I want them to go home—they should be with their families. Don’t they know that the world has been irreparably torn? Don’t they know? Don’t they care?

I start the car to go back to my own home. As I switch on the headlights, I catch the warning stripe of a skunk disappearing into the foliage.