For Robert

October 10 dawned sparkly and cold. Rushing across the street juggling dirty laundry and mason jars, late for a practice ACT and choosing to forgo the sidewalk near the stoplight for the middle of the street, I landed squarely on my butt. Glass crashed and my grungy socks fluttered to the ground. I sensed this fall would be an uphill battle.

The weather, at least, has not disappointed. Wet, snowy, cold, rainy, sloshy, gunk. And then, a dazzling sunny afternoon on my chaperoning trip to St. Mary's University in Winona, Minn. At first, we pulled away from the gray of the city slowly, crossing the Mississippi in a state of morning glory that can only be described as sublime, with flecks of scattered sun. The cloud-dappled red and gold hills started slowly, with short inclines becoming towering masses of fall-colored trees. Keeping the bus between the rail line and Lake Pepin, we sailed around the curves. I hardly noticed the three hours as they melted away.

And somewhere in my chest, I felt pains from a phantom heart. I know my real heart is fine, ticking away at regular speeds except when altered by drugs (caffeine) or stress (commuting), but mon coeur ached with a regular, dull pulse. The yellow of southern Minnesota's fall finery was not too far from the trees in St. Emilion come November. Where was the wine-drinking, hair-chopping pixie who just two short years ago took faltering steps in the Gare de Lyon of Paris? She's around, I guess. I read her notes sometimes, tucked away in books, with pictures and souvenirs, both kinds. But fall always sends me searching for her in a more real way, searching for that feeling I had for a couple hours on the train to Austria. For that rushing of blood as I stood in the streets of Cannes speaking to old men gathered around a game of Petanque. For the beauty of fall in Uzes, which looks a lot like Winona in retrospect.