Autumn came in all at once. I know it’s been here for a few weeks on paper, but it just hit me on the way home. A chill undertone to the breeze, like remembering something you almost forgot. The chill came in under oaks and between the skyscrapers at a stoplight. Five flavors of autotune drifted in from F150s and BMWs around me, and there could be no mistake. I don’t know where the groundhog spends this season, but it was all very druidic.
It’s been in the 90s all week, but that doesn’t seem to matter now. The Pumpkin Express is coming up the on ramp. Last October was a blur, but this year offers a clearer view, if not a more coherent account. We are defined by what we can no longer talk about. There’s still things worth saying.
Houston is too big, too weird, and too many different things to have some simple opinion of the city at this point. If I had to try for the clutch shot I’d say that I was a stranger, but made to feel welcome. It’s easy to indulge in superlatives, so choose whichever ones you like about this place. Same population as London, but five times the area.
I don’t know that I’ll ever feel wholly at ease somewhere this big, but little things keep surprising me. Victorian and art deco houses under magnolia trees, the odd sea breeze, and a landscape governed by water rather than heat and state lines. Happy to be here. Happy to have a sense of purpose, and the sharpening of the mind that comes with that.
There’s so much work to do, but it’s not a bad problem to have. Thought I’d check in.