It feels like fall. Finally. Unequivocally. That uncertain feeling of each morning coalescing into the conflicted atmosphere of the afternoon, and eventually fading into the cool veneer of evening. I woke up this morning to the dark of a night gone wrong, to an early start of another autumn day, and to a cool breeze outside my window. I eschewed a jacket in a show of solidarity for a summer that never quite lived up to expectations, that gave up the ghost way too soon.
As I slid into my car I noticed condensation on the windows, the cool dew’s moisture cold enough to create ice webs on my windshield. Defrosting would have taken too long so I used the telescoping scraper and some elbow grease to clear things up. By that time the inside of the car was warm, but I knew I wouldn’t need the heat on too long. Because fall is just like that, highly changeable. I drove 10 minutes down the road before I turned it off. The car stayed warm, the heat pressed in and comfortable like a supple leather glove.
I wouldn’t need the heat the rest of the day, even though in the morning air I could still see my breath for seconds before it evaporated into the autumn air. When I returned to it by mid-afternoon the air was still like calm waters on a sunny day. Because the sun was out and shining brightly overhead, pretending to be what it can only be for patches of time apart from the summer malaise that is fading with every day that brings us closer to winter.
It feels like fall as I get back home and shrug into my thick, fluffy robe, ready for the cool, collected endless nature of a complicated autumn night. And I settle in for the long haul.