The cold came in somewhere between the dark dark patches, after the shutting of the light in the living room, and the ambient glow of the day that was rolling in from the places in the world where they were already done with their day. It came with a light breeze, as colds do, so I reached to close the windows somehow from my bed, somehow reaching in the dark dust, fingers clutching a hard frame, wishing that I didn’t have to see this transition, the seam of the days, wishing for summer again and for spring, wishing friends didn’t need to leave again, that I could remember the dream of the house, that the light wouldn’t come so slowly like that, but quickly like a building collapsing in one go or the emptying of gigabytes of trash. The window closed.
A few hours later, I swiveled my head and that little bit of light had spread everywhere. The air was a dim white, and the wind was wet and droplets were all over the window and the fire escape, and I was relieved that while the dark had retreated and exposed me, the day hadn’t changed. The whole season had. It was the first day of school.
