A Fall Night

The movie was short. There were only the barest bones of a plot to give the Hero an excuse to follow the scripted course. You knew the Bad Guy the moment he appeared on the screen. The Leading Lady was stunningly beautiful. The Supporting Characters were appropriately quirky.

I walked out of the theatre into the fall night. Santana Row was across the street. It was lit in various shades of neon and mercury. The night was velvet in its blackness, all trace of the stars lost behind the clouds. It was cool, cool enough that I zipped my jacket shut as I walked across the parking lot. My car was sitting there alone underneath a street light, clean and silver. A single landscaped tree, strategically placed in the expanse was its only company.

I took a deep breath of the air. It smelled like rain. I crossed the parking lot in a slow purposeful stride, drinking in the sensual champagne - the dance of light and shadows, the scent of rain and fall, the feel of coolness on my face, the lingering taste of Black Cherry soda, the quiet hushed sounds of urban life. I shook hands with my friends and wished them a good night.

A perfect fall moment. I wish I could capture it. I wish you could have been there. I share it hear only imperfectly. A pale imitation of the moment. Perhaps it is enough that you can, from your memories, close your eyes and call the sensuality of it into your senses from somewhere deep in the well of memories.