September
Acorns crunched under my feet as I ran up the tree veiled hillside.
My jacket felt heavy after a summer of tank tops and thin running shorts, sunglasses slipping down my nose in humid afternoon heat, air stale with the remnants of July then August.
The clouds are a shade of gray that remind me of my freshman year of college in New York City, my first year of seasons after a seasonless childhood in San Diego. They remind me of diamond on vinyl- Simon and Garfunkel spinning on the ancient ten dollar turntable in my dorm room, "I wish I wah-uh-uz ho-ome-ward bound..." staring out onto Tenth Street and wondering if the clouds would stay all winter (they wouldn't) and how many pounds I would gain during the autumnal pre-hibernation carbohydrate frenzy (fifteen) and what a San Diego burrito would cost to ship to New York (too much) and if I'd made the right choice to move across the country (yes).
As the leaves changed and crisped and fell, the mittens and coats emerged from tiny, over-packed dorm room closets, the young smokers started to shiver in t-shirts and slippers on the sidewalk, and the days ended before class let out at five, it was clear Fall was in full force.
October became my favorite month of the year.
And not just for the candy corns (once my favorite- eaten color by color white orange yellow) and pumpkins in the fields, on doorsteps, lining the shelves at delis where the dahlias and daffodils once sat. There is something about wrapping a scarf around your goosepimpled neck, pulling on wool socks and boots to wear with a skirt and coat, the orangy yellowy light filtering through increasingly naked branches of birches and maples- their summer adornments fluttering to the sidewalks and filling the gutters with dreams of spring.
The crisp air and waning light are full of change and hope and comfort.
A reminder that stripping yourself of what is not needed and retreating within can be a beautiful phenomenon to those witnessing and that being witnessed.
The trees are still green on Long Island, the water warm, the coats tucked away.
But acorns crunching on the streets don't lie.
The truth of October is right around the corner.
My jacket felt heavy after a summer of tank tops and thin running shorts, sunglasses slipping down my nose in humid afternoon heat, air stale with the remnants of July then August.
The clouds are a shade of gray that remind me of my freshman year of college in New York City, my first year of seasons after a seasonless childhood in San Diego. They remind me of diamond on vinyl- Simon and Garfunkel spinning on the ancient ten dollar turntable in my dorm room, "I wish I wah-uh-uz ho-ome-ward bound..." staring out onto Tenth Street and wondering if the clouds would stay all winter (they wouldn't) and how many pounds I would gain during the autumnal pre-hibernation carbohydrate frenzy (fifteen) and what a San Diego burrito would cost to ship to New York (too much) and if I'd made the right choice to move across the country (yes).
As the leaves changed and crisped and fell, the mittens and coats emerged from tiny, over-packed dorm room closets, the young smokers started to shiver in t-shirts and slippers on the sidewalk, and the days ended before class let out at five, it was clear Fall was in full force.
October became my favorite month of the year.
And not just for the candy corns (once my favorite- eaten color by color white orange yellow) and pumpkins in the fields, on doorsteps, lining the shelves at delis where the dahlias and daffodils once sat. There is something about wrapping a scarf around your goosepimpled neck, pulling on wool socks and boots to wear with a skirt and coat, the orangy yellowy light filtering through increasingly naked branches of birches and maples- their summer adornments fluttering to the sidewalks and filling the gutters with dreams of spring.
The crisp air and waning light are full of change and hope and comfort.
A reminder that stripping yourself of what is not needed and retreating within can be a beautiful phenomenon to those witnessing and that being witnessed.
The trees are still green on Long Island, the water warm, the coats tucked away.
But acorns crunching on the streets don't lie.
The truth of October is right around the corner.
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