12. Nothing
Katherine D. Bennett
(First published in The Lathrop News, October 3, 1996)
I’m not going to write anything today. You see, it is Sunday afternoon, and if you were are where I am, you will agree it is a beautiful October day. Now I realize that at any moment, the weather might change, so I just can’t spare a moment to write anything, the day calls me to come outside and play.
Besides, on days like this there simply isn’t too much to say. I don’t necessarily want to describe how gorgeous today is. I have no desire whatsoever to write about the sun glowing in the sky or the easy wind stirring the leaves and grass. No, I just don’t think I want to write about September leaving like a child freed from his chores and October capering in like a glad dance. It would be useless for me to even pick up my pen.
Instead, I’ll gather up my children and go for a ride in the country. We’ll leave all the windows down and not care one bit if our hair gets tangled up with the wind. We’ll wind down some far-flung road and see what’s there. We’ll tell “knock-knock” jokes and laugh, even if they are not funny. It’s a good day for just going, and I’m not going to write about it. No way.
I’m not going to describe the smoky brown smell of my neighbor’s barbecue as they fire it up the grill one last time before it gets too cold. I won’t say a word about the boys shedding their shirts one last time, nor will I mention the bare feet I’m seeing today. No, I’m not going to write one word about it.
Instead, my children and I will wander about for a while and then, maybe we’ll drop in to visit some friends that are always happy to see us. The children will run and shriek and play in the yard while we adults sit on the porch and sip iced tea. We’ll talk about all the things we usually talk about, and too soon it will be time to come home.
We’ll get back to our house about the time evening pulls night-time’s dark blanket over us. The few remaining crickets will sing their early October song. I will bather my young ones and we will say our bed-time prayers; soon they will be asleep. I will stay with them as the drift off, watching them breathe in peace, and my heart will be all full of that immense feeling.
But I am not going to write about any of this. Not today.