Rectangles, Mostly

October arrived with the particular rudeness of a month that looks beautiful from the window and is actually cold the second you open the door. I have been inside a lot.

I opened the sketchbook this morning. Not with any intention, I just moved it off the chair so I could sit down, and then I flipped it open instead of setting it aside. There's a page in there I did a few weeks back: a row of rectangles I was calling a building, and then one rectangle I was very committed to calling a window. The window looks like a hatch door on a submarine. I'm not saying it can't improve. I am saying I closed the sketchbook and put it face-down on the table and made coffee instead.

the evidence

Gerald and the collapsed bowl were on the windowsill doing their thing, which is to say: existing without requiring anything from me. The sketchbook ended up propped against the wall next to them at some point. I don't remember doing that.

the windowsill situation, October edition

Nadia texted last week about October. We didn't nail anything down, just agreed that a visit was a real thing that could happen, which is its own kind of pleasant weight to carry around. I've been thinking about that, and about the pottery workshop I said yes to, and about how fall has a way of making a lot of small decisions feel like they might add up to something. Or they might not. Either way, the window I drew looks like a submarine hatch, and I genuinely think that's fine.