anniversaries of sorts

The sunset was godly tonight.

Our house was quiet all evening. It was my night to cook, and for the first time in weeks I had the entire kitchen to myself. My brain was as full as the sky. There is an imperceptible calm that covers the world every night, and yet we are rarely paying enough attention to even notice.

It is October. Octobers are always red to me, pomegranate season. I've lived in San Francisco exactly a year this week. Two years ago this week I moved to Spain. Three years ago this week I broke up with my college boyfriend. Four years ago this week I was in love for the first time. Five years ago...five years ago, Santa Barbara was covered in smoke and fire and I felt guilty for thinking the sunset was prettier after all the smog had cleared.

How calculable is change?

Is it something that politicians can actually bring? Is the change we seek the same as the change we need? Do we notice good change as much as bad?

I try to. When the workmen finish on our block, I notice the smooth, slick asphalt. When a student at our school finally understands the difference between "he" and "she," we point it out. When the office staff adopted compost and recycling, we put up green and blue reminders all over the walls. When my blood sugar is normal, I give myself a golf clap.

When we have a new, progressive president, I'll stop holding my breath for health care reform, an economy with potential, and a set of ideals that might just be that--ideas.