Enslaved by This Week in November, Every Year

This is the time of the year when the world wins.
It completely takes over and enchants me. I am at its whim.
And its whim is always to break my heart.
Yesterday in an unusually warm and soft-lit afternoon, I was totally bossed around by emotion.
I could have cried all afternoon, looking at the street and succumbing to an old memory.
It took place in 1974 and the weather, everything circumstantial, was identical. The light.
This time of the year, this week in fact, enslaves me.
I cannot get out of it.
Today it is passing somewhat, but only because I can pick up a pen and write about it.
I must write it out of my system.
But the pull!