In October, things really begin to pick up. As the weather grows colder, everything—from southward-flying birds that dot the sky to the colored leaves fluttering away from their fathering trees—moves with renewed urgency, as if they are all chasing after the last rays of warmth that swiftly vanish with the setting sun.

     One October morning, the overcrowded public bus skidded to a halt at its last stop on the usual corner. The doors unfolded with an ungreased squeak, releasing an onslaught of commuters. Among them, a young Korean-American woman hurried along the busy street with an air of determination. While she walked, she rearranged her scarf over the front of her ironed blouse, cleverly concealing a spreading coffee stain beneath. Her eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue behind the thick frames of her glasses, but her posture remained erect and proud as she wove her way through crowds of people.

     “The incorporation of this new system in the workplace will serve to benefit employers and employees alike,” she rehearsed aloud, repeating the line over and over.

     She was so focused that she did not see the bent old man walking slowly toward her in the opposite direction. 

 

 

    The collision inflicted no material damage on either one of them, but it was jarring enough to rattle the woman’s solid frame. The man’s claw-like hand shot out and seized the front of her blouse.  Shrieking, she instinctively caught him by the wrist and wrenched his hand away from her shirt, jerking her head up to have a look at his face. Eyes met, and dark brown stared into a watery blue. 

     A homeless pervert? thought the woman. Not wishing to cause a scene, however, the woman released his bony wrist. As she did so, she inhaled the sharp odor of urine on him.
   

    The man muttered something unintelligibly rude as he clumsily stumbled around her, retracting his offending hand back into its filthy jacket sleeve. The woman glared after him.  She delicately sniffed at the hand she used to remove the man, and grimaced as she caught traces of his smell. Then her gaze shifted to her watch, and she hissed in frustration. She was already late for class.

​

​

                                                                                                                         ◊



 

      In October, things really begin to slow down. As the weather grows colder, everything—from the withering brown leaves clinging on the trees to the stubborn birds nestled in their branches—moves at diminished speeds, as if they are all basking in the lingering rays of warmth that slowly disappear with the setting sun.

      One October morning, an old man plodded wearily along the busy street. The man’s white hair floated hazily in the light breeze as he shuffled around groups of silent people, deep in thought. He curled his body forward, as if to protect himself from the shadow of the clean, professional hospital building rising behind him. In one hand, he clutched a tiny gold band.  He rubbed his unshaven beard distractedly with the other, not bothering to wipe away the tears that slid down his wrinkled cheeks and transformed the world into a wet blur. The man was so unfocused that he did not see the young Asian woman walking briskly toward him in the opposite direction.

      The collision inflicted no material damage on either one of them, but it was jarring enough to rattle the man’s frail frame. Instinctively, he reached out for anything to keep himself from falling. He vaguely heard a cry as a quick, strong hand grasped his wrist to help steady him.  He lifted his head. Eyes met, and filmy blue met a warm brown. 

      So she’s come back for me already? he thought, with a glimmer of hope. 

      Then the hand released him, and he remembered the truth.  His quivering lips formed small words no one else could hear.

      “Today I linger here, my love, but tomorrow I will join you.”