just follow the cat

Part 2 - Edward Starling Prindle

Dear Ma,

I think it's time for me to come home. Is that okay?

Love, Starling

i = -i

today, a mid-October evening

somewhere north of Baltimore

(it is very near the end of things)

It's hard to imagine a sadder moon than the one that rises in October in Baltimore. They call it the Moon of Changing Seasons. For 6 months, the moon is blessed to sit up there in outer space and look at the colors all around the city and marvel at the billions of shades of green. All that greenness darkens and deepens slowly over the summer, but the change occurs so gradually that the moon briefly forgets what's happening below.

These moons are happy moons. They see all the greenness on Earth and they even absorb a bit of it themselves. In these happy months, the gray (gray) moon actually wears a hint of green.

But then, the first storms of October take down the oldest and weakest trees in Baltimore because their (now dark) leaves act like sails. As whole trees hope to fly off to some more glorious destination, they fall instead – the exact length of their journey being no longer than the height of the tree. Then, the storms that follow tear the leaves from the healthier trees. The mess from those storms covers the Earth and clogs all the little streamlets that zigzag throughout and underneath the city. After that, a stinking sulfur-y sludge forms on the bottoms of small ponds and begins to rise. The smell is so offensive that it chases away the butterflies, the ducks, geese, grackles, and all the other species who can't bear to be close anymore. Even the blue crabs begin to march away from Baltimore in their crazy 10-legged walk.

So many things change and so many things leave. But throughout October and all through the winter, the tiny goldfinches stay in the city. You rarely see them anymore because they're no longer gold. Every year (in September) these birds begin to wonder. They begin to ponder. And then they equivocate. They think about following the butterflies, the ducks, geese, grackles, and all the other species who leave, but (in the end) they don't. They just stay. And by October, they are ashamed of their indecisiveness so they shed their stunning yellow-gold feathers and replace them with the drabbest shades of winter.

For the sad (sad) moons of October, there is no way to avoid all that happens on Earth. It is just what they see. But it's not the same for the sun. The sun, you see, is so much happier than the moon. It swings wildly above and below the equator and the greenest greens of summer follow it everywhere it goes. But the gray pockmarked moon hovers near the equator all year round. And thus, it is forced to watch all the changes happening below it – knowing that for the next six months the Earth will look no prettier than the moon itself.

But these days, the Moon of Changing Seasons watches a different story from its perch above Baltimore. You see, October is different now. Way back when, it used to be a little colder and a little wetter but not anymore. Way back when, it used to be too cold to sit for hours alone in a car and not worry about slowly freezing to death. But it's different now. I can do things like that. In fact, I could probably drive anywhere nearby and find a spot in a parking lot away from the curbs and the edges. Away from the center of things. Where there are no lights and no traffic. Not too cold and not too damp. It might still be a problem in November (what an awful month that is), but these days October is okay.

i = -i

I thought about what I'd do this day ever since that perfect/perfect day in June. And I felt like I'd prepared for everything. I brought a warm coat, a pair of gloves, a hat, and my father's old gun. The coat, gloves, and hat were all mine. The gun, as I said, was my father's, but since he died twenty years ago, I assumed he wouldn't need it as much as I do tonight.