October 30th informs me that somethings in time are mutable, somethings are not.By Gregorian reckoning, 42 years ago my mother died, four months and 27 days ago it was my father.
That tends to the immutable — why the dead get by with everything.
That October 30 once was the occasion for a small family jack-o’-lantern competition, a friend's birthday, or the date of a child’s Halloween concert seems rather more mutable.
Least mutable, there is no justice, just us.
I suppose the best we can hope for is a ride on Binky.
