Fall. Autumn. The season so nice they named it twice. New Years day isn’t until January 1st, but to me, the new year always starts in September. Yesterday I woke up and went out to get some breakfast, and outside my door was Fall. The sky was completely milked over with pure white clouds, and the day looked as if it was a painting, and the artist had not yet finished coloring. The world had never looked so infinite as it did as a blank piece of paper.
There’s something refreshing about this time of the year, when all the kids are starting to go back to school and the leaves turn crispy brown, like paper bags falling to the ground. I feel like my (imaginary) lover should send me a bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils and a box of scotch tape. Spring is the season of rebirth, but there’s nothing like a gust of cold wind slapping you across the face to make you feel alive.
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