Kiss the Summer Goodbye, the sweetness of the Autumn...

Today was the second snow of the year. Yesterday was the first. Tonight, as I walked home on the dark snowy streets, hands full from the grocery store, I saw someone walking towards me the in shadows. Could be a punk kid or... a killer! I picked up the pace cut a fast left and darted down my street, raced up the steps, then sillyly fumbled for keys. But at the top step, I was safe.

From this height, I could have nailed him in the chest with a box of Clementine’s and sent him toppling backwards down the steps and into the street. And if he survived that wanting more, I would have pegged him in the face with apples while screaming for help.

As I plotted my fictitious retaliation on my imaginary attacker, I wondered why I was so edgy tonight? Had it been too much Starbucks? Too little sleep? Just minutes before I strategized how to turn my produce into weapons, I was picking them out in the store, singing out loud to Christmas songs while trying to keep my dancing to a minimum and dreaming of sipping soy egg nog and decorating. How had I become so neurotic? Then it dawned on me. Charles.

Yes, it was Charles that kept the streets safe. I guess I had been so busy in the Fall, I didn’t noticed that with the weather turning colder and daylight being rationed, Charles was out less and less. Charles could be 70, or he could be 100, it's hard to tell. Charles, the strong defender of Garden Street was no longer out. No longer on the corner talking to his buddies. No longer waving from across the street. No longer watching the cars go by or playing with his grand-daughter.

Charles was the one who raced over after the terrifying mail incident where I had called the cops in September. By 'raced' I mean that he made it across the street in less than ten minutes. Oh, okay, so maybe someone stealing our mail isn't that terrifying and the cop looked at me like I was insane. But not Charles, he asked the tough questions, "Everything okay?"

As I write this, I realize that Charles might not be able to fight his way out of a wet paper bag, much less protect me from anything, but he gives the illusion of safety. He would be a witness. No one wants to do anything wrong with a witness around. When you're up to no good, you want an accomplice nearby, not a witness. But now, hot summer nights are gone and Charles is inside, bundled up somewhere.

At home, I began working and had forgotten about my brush with death. All of a sudden, I heard something that sounded like a gunshot outside. Then again, bam bam! It could have been a car back firing, but I didn’t want to risk getting hit by a stray bullet, so I did the soldiers belly crawl across the living room floor. Shaking, I peered out the window and saw Charles.

He looked very authoritative as he looked both ways out the front door. I smiled because even in the cold days of winter, he watches out for us! Put your produce down, the world is safe again.