today Brooklyn is a beautiful, devastating autumn. it’s a beauty that comes and goes.
on the street where I live there’s an old church that glows with the sound of October’s bells. I bike past it every day on my way to the donut shop where I work. (is it called the Doppler effect when a sound fades and its pitch drops as you move farther away? I kinda sucked at physics even though it was one of my favorite classes.)
soon enough everything I cherish about fall will drift farther and farther away.
nothing remains the same after a certain point—except in moments of forgetfulness when memory and life seem to go their separate ways.
at the memory center where I help out, life follows a simple, comforting routine. the people there seem content with fewer things—less interested in experiences like visiting new places or hitting clubs after 11 pm. yet every day brings familiar joys: a morning walk, biscotti with coffee, lunch at 11 am, and gathering at 4 pm to hear songs they once knew by heart.
as memory fades, appreciating the present moment can mean more than we realize.
last week, Renée from the center requested an old song she used to know all the words to when she was a girl. I wanted to learn it for her, so I found it on Spotify and came up with my own version. here’s the iPhone recording from yesterday:
cookie nieves 
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