To my complete horror, I am falling in love with Autumn.
I didn’t use to be this way. Living in Chicago, you have to get used to the change in temperatures, sometimes that even take place within a week. High in the 80s on Sunday, plunging to low 40s the next. This is Chicago weather.
I can take the high heat. I can take the humidity. But Lord, if the temperature falls below 65, I’m pulling out blankets, and pouring gallons of hot tea down my gullet, and I huddle in the corner of the family room like a withered matriarch, barking out the occasional command so I won’t have to touch my toes to the freezing floor. I don’t like cold.
But as of late, I’ve been looking perversely forward to it, and not just because I’m a tea junkie. For weeks now, I’ve been dreaming of hot stews and warm, crusty bread, pulled fresh from the oven. I’ve been thinking of the days getting shorter, which means lighting candles in high spots around the house and writing to their flickering glow. I crave slower, more melancholy music: Enya, Over the Rhine, piano and soft female voice winding through the house in their haunted melodies. And let’s not forget Daniel’s joy as he rushes through a pile of falling leaves, crunching and scattering beneath his shoes, while my hubby yells, “Hey! Quit that!”, but secretly planning to rake together a large pile to toss Daniel into.
I don’t know if Daniel remembers snow.
The snow right now is rushing down fast, making small white blotches on our back patio. I think I’m going to wake Daniel up and treat him to the first snow of the season. Then I’m going to put on some thick socks, because man, my feet are cold.
Filed under: General Musings |