Where I live, Autumn slips inside the air when July bows to August, almost undetectable aside from the most subtle of whisps. The small trees have the occasional orange highlight and, sooner than the paper calendar will dictate, they will tip the brim of their bunnets.
This is, for me, a funny feeling time of year. I can never decide if I feel sorrow at the end of the warmest airs, late into the night, or if I feel excitement at the start of the blank canvas of the academic year and the perennial pleasure of scarves and soft jumpers.
As befits the tag of a long term dancer of depression, I’ll take what I can get. Long ago I would have bucked around now. Not given up summer nights without a surly glance and a sorry soul. Nervously pacing in anticipation of 4pm curtain calls.
But we’ve done this before. We are stronger than any season lived before. There is about to be a most beautiful twelve week finale before nature slumbers.
Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. And hold. Repeat. We can do it.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.