As I started writing today I realized that I was not quite
through with the idea of music as a metaphor for October. I looked back in my
journal and saw that October had been there all along, lurking in the depths of
a quiet melody, tickling my subconscious, begging me to notice it. It has been
singing its sinuous siren song for quite some time, and in August I finally took
the cotton out of my ears and succumbed.
I hadn’t felt much like writing the last few years. October
still held its magic, but it was for me alone, not for sharing. Now words run
through my head pushing and shoving each other to get onto the page first. I
stop, start, and get halfway through with an idea before a new one elbows the
words I’m typing aside and asserts itself.
I know I said that the theme music for this October was a
modified Christmas tune, but it could also be the sweet strains of an
unaccompanied cello suite in G major by Yo Yo Ma, whose woody resonance would
weave its way in like smoke, curling and beckoning with misty fingers and
tendrils of promise.
I felt its pull last night sitting in my comfy chair with a
hot cup of tea, a warm blanket and the dark outside the window. Maybe it was
the velvety darkness that changed my October tune. Perhaps something in the
night air spoke to me. Notes lingering on the wind so faint you couldn’t be
sure if you really heard them or not. Whatever it was, I could feel October in
my blood, swirling and whirling and building to something greater. Only time
will tell what that particular October surprise will be. 
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