Autumnal Glow

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” -- L.M. Montgomery

Here is my yearly ode to Fall. If you know me at all, you know I love odes, and you know I live for Autumn. Every year around this time, I turn into a ten year old. A ten year old who, instead of being hyped up on the promise of Christmas or birthday cake, is high on red maple leaves and pumpkins and rainstorms. I know it's technically been Autumn since late September, I've been wearing a jacket since I arrived here, and there's been numerous rainstorms. But still, I was waiting. I was waiting for that feeling –– a feeling which inevitably hits me and lets me know that Autumn has finally arrived. Yes, Autumn is a combination of its own smells, sounds, and a feeling. Really, it's 6th sense I have. Not as cool as seeing dead people, but still.

It all started last night, when I began feeling that Autumn-tingle while walking to a party with Sara. There was no moon in the sky to be found, and the night was thickly dark. The kind of dark that makes you want to tell scary stories and burn a big bonfire. You could see your breath, and the air held a thin chill that's sharp and clear against your lungs. Then, all day today was spent in my favorite bakery, lost deep in the vampire world of Transylvania because I'm reading Dracula for one of my classes. Too perfect for this time of year, right? On the way home, we chased the last of the sunlight through Hyde Park, but it had bent behind the tree line before we reached the patch of sunny grass. The trees in the park and along the pathway home are all turning–– bits of vibrant yellow and red in the green. And the air still held the clear cool that manages to smell slightly smoky.

When I get this Fallish-feeling, I have to give in to it. Giving in means that when I got home this evening, I immediately had to bake an apple crisp, which is browning and bubbling in the oven as I type. It means I have to dig out my favorite Winnie the Pooh fuzzy socks and re-read favorite passages from the Anne books. It means it's time to watch Little Women and the BBC Pride and Prejudice. It means I start daydreaming of the time when I'll finally live in a place with a wood-burning fireplace and an overstuffed armchair. It means baking oatmeal cookies and creating soups in the crockpot. A time for pumpkins and hay mazes and countryside hiking jaunts in boots and woolen scarves. It means I might never change out of the jumper (sweater) I bought at the charity shop, and it means I might keep myself awake at night just listening to the rain against the window.

Now I will finish my rant, my ode, my soliloquy and return to homework and cleaning up the mess I just made in kitchen. But the smell of cinnamon clings to my sweatshirt, and there's the promise of pumpkin-carving in the very near future. Autumn is here, so it deserved its own post.

As my L.M. Montgomery would say, “Why do dusk and fir-scent and the afterglow of autumnal sunsets make people say absurd things?”