Dressed in brilliant colors — its evenings merely hinting at the winter to come — October is fall at its flirty best. November, on the other hand, is when the season gets down to work. The sun rises and grows thinner with each passing day, until one afternoon you look up and realize that its heat no longer reaches your skin. Cooler nights make for grand sleeping under thick comforters, and on more mornings than not you’ll pull on a sweater to ward off the chill. It’s a beautiful and melancholy month of incomplete to-do lists and catching up with the people in my life.
We’ve had perhaps the last of our seasonal heat waves which, tonight, finally gave way to the first true rain to pass by in many months. I had just woken from a nap, book in hand, when I heard the soft padding of raindrops on the pavement. I love that smell: I love how it lifts my spirits, how awake and alive and delighted I feel in it.
I am craving fresh air and time to stretch and clear my head a little bit. The sky was so clear this morning… it took all I had to keep myself from driving until I reached San Francisco. I need a break, but from what — and to where — I’m not entirely sure.
2 Comments
Portland. Duh.
Someday, I’ll ask “what’s the meaning of life?” and I suspect that your answer will be much the same =)