In my cool house, with no lights on, I can hear the buzz of the pressure washer across the street. J is off to pick up some bicycle tubes. There is so much to pack, yet I plop down in my chair and start plonking on the keys.

I'm moving off Tremont in a week. I realized yesterday that I'll probably have to change my banner photo on the blog, but that should be a welcome change and will come so naturally in light of all the other changes I'm about to undergo.

Last night I dreamt my black bicycle was stolen while I was eating dinner with old school friends. I returned to find only my front wheel and lock left, as police were talking on their radios. I failed to complete the police report of my stolen bike. The next day, I was concerned about finding a better lock. But still didn't think too much about my bike—only where I might have left the receipt to prove it was mine. I woke up this morning at J's thinking about it.

It is fitting that I'm moving as the seasons change, albeit very slowly. Like going back to school—a new bicycle route, new faces (literally going through campus), new neighbors, on a busy street, my quiet new space below street level.