cavatica

Today's Autumn is a stretch after a long sleep: crystalline and breezy, full of light and vitality. The leaves haven't really started to turn, but I can already hear them crackling and whispering amongst themselves, impatiently awaiting their impending metamorphoses. Everyone's excited to be wearing long sleeves and light jackets--I've seen scarves and sweatshirts and peacoats already--because there's something comforting in being bundled and layered, in knowing that at the end of the day we'll retire to heaped blankets and wake to a tardy, drowsy dawn. There's a kind of contained freneticism in our leisure, too; a barely-bottled excitement at the knowledge that the holidays will be here soon. I can't wait for the fires and hot food and long, steaming baths; for the variegated swirls of windblown leaves; for the mellow, silent grey mornings; for the rain, for the sun, for the familiar constellations in a vast and clarion night. I don't think my heart can hold it all.