Not a particular one, just any October, beggars can’t be choosers, right? I can deal with whatever you’re throwing at me, even if it’s a flood from too much rain. Well, I’m getting ahead of myself, I don’t really want to deal with the whole rain business unless I’m indoors.
I don’t love fall per se, but mainly for what it represents: illusions, stories, more chapters to a book that’s only written in my mind. Magic. I love the scenarios, the sitting at a cafe, trying to warm your hands with hot chocolate, making chit-chat with one of your oldest friends, escaping from the cool air.
The sipping of some tea you don’t really like but heard it was good, while in bed with a Victorian book, with shorts and big, fluffy socks that reach your knee.
The passionate walks, trying to hold your scarf in one peace and hoping against hope it won’t rain until something decisive, something that would change your entire dynamic, will happen.
The boots and scarves and leather jackets left unbuttoned. The huge, warm sweaters with turtlenecks. The smell of morning and the sight of fog. Getting up early on a Saturday morning to drink a huge latte while making plans in your head.
The leaves in the parks, the depth of most conversations, the flight of all things random, the night that falls down quicker but not as quick as in December so you can still stay up late, without thinking it’s too late.
The little things that spark in everyday life, that remind you you’re alive. That make you feel.
I love fall. It wakes me up.