Friday, October 12, 2012
two days of autumn
Yesterday and today we've had a glorious patch of autumn weather here in Los Angeles. It has been chilly and brisk, a teensy bit rainy, and just generally wonderful. I reveled in the chance to wear jeans, long sleeves, boots, and a scarf yesterday, and ignored the weather report every time it popped on the radio with all its chipper inevitability to say we'll be back in the 80's by tomorrow. Hey, nobody wants your 80-degree sunshine, Los Angeles. And by "nobody" I mean "me."
I guess I can't speak for anyone else, but it's amazing what a little cool air and a few stormy clouds can do for me. Last week I pulled out the Halloween decorations because it was technically October even though it still felt like August, and I was worried that I would somehow miss fall this year because I just wasn't feeling it at all. And then I wondered why I care so much, really. But with a little turn in the weather yesterday I found myself lighting clove-scented candles and cozying under blankets and painting my nails gold and just generally feeling happy, at ease, more at home in the world.
As I'm typing this, I feel like this all sounds terribly, embarrassingly inane. Dull. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I don't feel dull, all of a sudden. I feel dull from June through September. But as of yesterday I feel like I can breathe again. I feel creative and introspective, I want to bake and practice guitar and read and turn up the radio and take the girls on a nature walk. I want to bundle up in sweaters and go to the beach with a thermos of hot cider. And I have a million thoughts in my head that need to be written down, examined, explored. Thoughts about goals and life choices and houses and careers and connectedness and priorities and bucket lists. It's the time of year that I need to travel with a notebook and pencil wherever I go, and I want to go.
I want to go, or I want to stay cuddled under a blanket on the sofa, reading, writing, drinking coffee, watching the tips of one of the few scrappy, reddish maple trees across the street as they rock dreamily in the slightly-salted breeze.
I could go. I could go, or I could sit here forever, content.
(I will try very, very hard not to complain about the sunshine tomorrow. Promise.)