This year October has a Friday the 13th. A six-foot one Dutch woman I once used to know told me that 13 is a lucky number in The Netherlands. Tall as she was, Zita loved wearing four-inch stock heels. I remember liking her in heels, too.

But I was talking about October.

My mother has been in remission for three years and as many months. When I first moved here (and was living in The Plains), I had a dream in which I was flying like I used to do in my zombie nightmares, except it wasn’t clear there were zombies to fly from. They had dissipated into the mountains. As I flew, the landscape below shifted, the outlines of valleys and ridges subtly converging in the shape of coffins. I tried not to fly directly over the coffin shapes. In the twelve months that followed (after the dream), I attended two funerals and at least two of my friends were diagnosed with cancer. (I didn’t know September is prostate cancer awareness month, but it is.)

Making a website pink for one month is perhaps a pointless gesture, an empty symbol, a bankrupt signifier. No one will be cured by seeing bunches of pink. But: meaning transpires at the moment of recognition and affinity. This site is pink so that you don’t have to. Unless you want.

Months only are lovely as the people in which they die.