Portland is full of tannin shadows, and so are we.

It’s one of those things that you see, appreciate, but don’t know the actual word for until the memory tickles you enough to do a conversational, unspecific Google search. “What is it called when fallen leaves leave imprints on the sidewalk before they are cleared away?” The unsought-for “AI Summary” regurgitated the fact that there was no specific term, or that the term depended on whether they fell on set concrete and left an imprint or if it was set and left a stain from rotting.

As it was, the summary’s “scientific cause” description was adroit and perfect, because I am a sentimental nerd. Tannins are the compounds in leaves that, when they are wet, can leech out into the porous concrete and leave a “shadow” before the leaf itself is swept or blown away. Wine and tea snobs will also appreciate that tannins are the compounds that make their beverage of choice “dry” and crinkle the sides of the tongue, and cause the stains in a teacup. Equally poetic is the fact that consuming tannins too regularly or in high enough concentrations can cause anemia as they prevent the uptake of nutrients and minerals like iron.

For our autumnal purposes, however, “tannin shadow” is perfect because it’s the impact of a loss, left in bitterness. Fall in Portland is rainy and blustery, calling everyone to get cozy and reflect on the year, and the tannin shadows aren’t just on the sidewalk. Sitting in my sweaters and scarves, looking into my dark beers and whiskeys, and staring at patterns in pipe smoke on the back porch, I can’t help but acknowledge the legacies of losses.

I don’t want to talk about the war anymore.

“Which war?” It’s tragic we clarifications on that, but the last I looked there were several names to pick from. “The Israel- Hamas War.” “The War of Sword of Iron,” named for the specific operation name in the IDF. “The War of Redemption,” more popular to highlight the quest to rescue the hostages held by Hamas. I’m not personally interested in what Western groups want to call it, mostly because they were about as involved in it as they are in a football game.

Personally, it was the war that broke my heart in more ways than one. It’s the war that pulled a lot of masks off, revealed a lot of things about people I cared about that now can’t be unknown, and nudged me in directions both positive and negative. It’s the war that made “I will not let monstrous times and monstrous people make a monster of me” my mantra, led me to largely cut the cord with social media, and reconnected me with a Jewish community that refuses to give up either its identity OR humanity for the sake of belonging. Possibly worst, it’s the war that created a moment of unhinged ideological purism that let totalitarianism, authoritarianism, and naked corruption seize the reins of power in the US- and the entire country gets to experience the consequences.

I don’t want to talk about the “peace deal” either. I’m glad the living hostages are returned, but no one’s packed up their guns and gone home yet, so let’s keep the participation trophies in the sack for now.

Instead, I’m going to talk about the fact that there are, at last count, eight people who’ve knowingly or unknowingly seen their way out of my life over this stupid fucking pointless war. Connections severed over a war caused and perpetuated by useless old men with grudges, hate, and greed in their hearts and worldwide megaphones that their disposal.

Not necessarily over their politics or beliefs. We could have discussed those, and I would have listened. They all saw themselves out of my life- or at the very gentlest, how I used to think of them- over their delight in the pain of others, selective muteness, abandonment of principles they claimed to hold because “this is different,” or simply because they couldn’t handle things being complicated beyond a “good guy/bad guy” “opressor/oppressed” dichotomy they’d set on an ancient conflict most of them had no stake or skin in.

Yes, “#privilege” and “#firstworldproblems.” Don’t care- the world is vast and filled with pain, and this the pain closest to my heart just now. If others weren’t so bent out of shape trying to excuse theirs, we might not be in the situation we are currently facing.

It gives me pause, for sure. Thinking back on other lost or faded connections like those stains on the sidewalk, left by leaves made tea by the autumn rains, I wonder how many other people were once so important in my wound and grew their way out of it. Old friends lost to time and distance. Teachers and former mentors, work buddies, comerades, names on social media that I see but can’t always remember how I learned them and why. We were important enought to each other to reach out. Neither of us was important enough to hold tight to when the casual winds of the world pulled us away- much less the gale of popular politics and cause celebres.

We all left marks on each other, though. Stains on the pavement of our lives. Someone once told me about this artist I love. Someone was with me that wild night eighteen years ago in Vermont. Someone danced at my wedding and posed in photographs. I held someone’s child and kept them calm while they ran to the car.

The leaves fell. They left their mark, and another in their loss- stained in bitterness on pavement, before the wind blew them away.

Stay Classy,