None But Eagles

The air smelled like a beach today. It still felt like late autumn and it still looked like a chilly weakly-sunny day and it still sounded like the city, but it smelled like a beach. It probably had to do with the slight tinge of fog that I wasn’t convinced was really there until I was sure my glasses weren’t smudged. The morning had been nothing but grey clouds and now the sun was beating them back but this pallor of fog remained. Later in the evening when I walked home through it, it was heavier and smelled, as expected, like late autumn, like it was thinking about how it would snow soon but not today. But at quarter to noon while I was waiting for the bus and reading a book and thinking about putting on a scarf, at least one of my senses was trying to convince me that I was on a beach. Like I could gulp down the air and take off my shoes and cover my face with my book and sleep. Alas.

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