Transitioning to Fall

The image on the screen paused in the middle of a cross-fade.
An adolescent sea gull.
The apple tree losing leaves but still bearing fruit.
A city bus at a stop in the ride-free zone.
Protestant adolescents mumbling the Divine Liturgy.
Heartbroken twentysomethings finding solace in a rock show.
A square in capitol hill.
A freak in Magnolia.
A country boy missing stars from the train yard.
Pius and profane podcasts on the same hard drive.
Mundane tragedy.
Tragic humor.
Humorous normalcy.

Missing the girl who lives next door.
Crossing myself in the privacy of my room.
Nobody likes the band I discovered.
My circle of friends is a dot-to-dot in reverse.
I haven't got the heart to e-mail the missionaries.

Haunted by the bus driver's face after the man fell down.
Haunted by the Skype call, forgotten and not re-scheduled.
Haunted by An Horse and The Decemberists.
Haunted by everyone I've loved.

Facebook has a(nother) new layout.
There's a new actor playing The Doctor.
The DC Universe rebooted with mixed results.
It's raining again.
I've brought back my sweater collection.
I have a(nother) new roommate.

Cheap lightbulbs that burn orange.
Cat Power's voice in the dark.
Black coffee cooling in my brother's mug.

Ferries appear to move silently through the sound from my living room window, carrying more stories than could ever be told back to houses filled with more images than could ever be captured.