Stephen Mejias

Autumn came without calling first. It snuck its way in through the cracks of my old kitchen windows and made itself at home. I've asked it to spend nights on my orange couch, but, while I sleep, it comes into my bed and hogs all the blankets. It's cold in my apartment.

On my way home last night, I stopped at Home Depot on 23rd Street. I'm still not used to the fact that there's a Home Depot on 23rd Street, but that's something else. I stopped at Home Depot (on 23rd Street) and purchased a window insulation kit.

At home, I took a stand. "Autumn," I said, "I love you, but you've got to go."

I wanted something pretty, something poppy, something easy to listen to while I worked, so I selected Ron Sexsmith's Retriever and placed it in the Exposure. I pressed Play and started away, but before I even made it back to the kitchen, I was struck by how alive the music sounded. I had to sit down.

A few moments in, Autumn called. I could concentrate on the music no more than I could concentrate on the cold. Into the kitchen I went. I brought down the blinds, made sure the window's surface was clean, dry, and grease-free, and got at it with the double-sided tape and plastic film.

Soon, I realized, my window insulation kit just wasn't going to work as advertised. Autumn was having its way with me. My windows are longer than the standard, and old and irregular and crooked, making my project a bit more difficult than I'd imagined. Back in the living room, Ron Sexsmith was remembering springtime and drinking dandelion wine:

And when I think of her
It's with the warmest thoughts
I took so much from her
I really learned a lot
How to dust off my heart
How to make it shine
How to take a field of dandelions
And make dandelion wine

"If you sounded any more alive," I told Ron, "I'd ask you to come in here and give me a hand."

Then I remembered Christian's mix CD, Canadian Tunes for the Arros.