Despite the heat LA has experienced in the last few days I know it’s October at night. There must be something about the proximity & angles of the moon to the northern hemisphere in October, because I can tell what month it is by looking at the moon regardless of where I’ve found myself of an October. It’s big, orange, and slightly obscured by clouds in a painfully romantic way.

As I watched the clouds slice across its face the other day, like a razor across an eyeball (but without the explody goo afterward), I thought perhaps Dali came up with that in an October, half a world away.

There’s something that I can taste in an October night that makes me want to pull my jacket tight, open the window on the rapping wind, and cup my hands around a glass of something warm. Even when it’s 87� out. Which is part of what’s been under my skin the last few days: an October Full Moon and I can’t enjoy it: there’s no chilly wind to guard against, no slightly creepy noises to cause me to snuggle closer to my kitties (and husband, of course).

There’re few enough October evenings left to enjoy, and the taste of a November evening is not the same, so here’s to chilly Octobers past & to come, to orange Harvest Moons swollen on the horizon, and to the feel of night on our skin.