"One Sunday Morning" by Wilco

Today, I asked my students if they grow sentimental in the fall. You know, I said. It gets colder, and darker, and the leaves change and then die and then it’s winter. Doesn’t that make you a little sad? Don’t you get sentimental?

And they blinked back at me, and some of them tilted their heads and smiled quizzically, and the skinny guys who flank the left side of the room stared dully at nothing, and the troupe of blond volleyball-playing girls in back shut their eyes and yawned and wondered if they’d get out early today. Nobody said anything. Really? I said. It happens to me every year. I listen to different music—The Kinks, Belle and Sebastian, this song I just posted. I watch The Royal Tenenbaums two to three times. I go for long walks through the woods by my apartment, and kick my feet through the dead leaves, and the light through the trees is different than it is in summer-- it’s strained, it’s thinner-- and it occurs to me, again, how temporary everything is. And it’s a sad feeling, but it’s a good feeling, too. Everything seems richer. People seem kinder. And though whatever your life is now is always changing, or ending, you have it now—right now—and isn’t that something? The world is about to turn gray and cold and inhospitable—but look at it right now! These are the things I said at the beginning of my Introduction to College Composition class. And some of my students laughed, and some of them looked bored, so I shrugged and set into motion my innovative lesson-plan.

Later, I played this song over the speaker system as they wrote. One of them—a no nonsense, military-haircut guy-- looked up from his paper and said, isn’t this song a little depressing?  And I said, what are you talking about? It’s beautiful. Listen to the guitar. And I did an air-guitar thing, I pretended to play along, but he frowned, and shook his head, and went back to his writing.

Today, I rode my bike downtown and ran errands. I purchased a bunch of bananas from Farmer Q’s, which is where one goes to purchase cheap bananas. I went to the food co-op and bought some tomatoes, because now is the time for good tomatoes. I went to the Border Grill and ate an unremarkable burrito, but I had a full punch card so it was free. What am I, an asshole? I’m going to complain about my free burrito?

In the co-op, two young women I did not recognize said hello, waved, asked me how I was. At this moment, I was sorting ears of corn, trying to find the best ones, the largest ones, with the fully developed kernels. These are the ones I wished to purchase. I’m okay, I said. How are you? These women were hackey-sack sorts, hula-hoop sorts, knotted hair and halfshut eyes and stoned voices. I’m okay, one said, smiling. It’s good to see you. It’s good to see you, too, I said, and they glided away, and I went back to my corn, not understanding what had happened but feeling glad that it had happened.

People of Marquette: everything is about to die! There will be sleet, and it will be gray, and the light will be dead and the sidewalks will be coated in ice and we won’t know what to do with our time, we won’t know what the fuck to do with our time, but look at we have now. Look at the way the sun lights up the clocktower downtown. Or the lake-- enormous and empty and unfathomable-- roaring always just past the breakwall. Or the stunned, sleepy expressions worn by everyone wandering downtown in the early evening. They’re walking their dogs, these people, they’re running their errands, they’re on their way to get a drink or an appetizer or a book from the library, and when you walk by them they'll slow a little and turn their heads to face you and say, hey, how are you? And you’ll smile back at them, these strangers, walking so slowly through the downtown shade they might be walking underwater, and you’ll say to them, I’m good, thank you, how are you?