Early October

The bees are aggressive in early October and I wonder if I will ever belong. They say this happens every Fall but I cannot remember the sting. October is colder than usual. Classical music guides the wind south. My bones never felt so heavy since the bees carried their pollen. They were angry for my longing. It is sunny but it does not feel sunny enough. Leaves crack beneath my feet and I flinch for their bones could just as easily be mine. There is a man across the street and the sun cascades on his skin but he does not smile. I wonder if he is writing prose as well. October should be less cloudy. Classical music evaporates into thin air as does the man across the street. The wind comes from the north and the windows are empty. Brick on brick. He will never know of his inspiration however minuscule it may have been. It is 9:36am and I wonder if he is brewing another cup of coffee. Does he feel like he belongs here— I wonder— with the bees and the classical music and the crushed leaves. Perhaps he has learned over the years that it does not matter where one belongs for there are bees everywhere I go. I may never belong in early October.

— Olivia Dodge