It happened the moment I walked out of the building after work. There was a draft, and it actually felt cold on my non-jacketed body. "Ah," I thought. "I missed you."
Autumn happens to be my favorite season. And feeling the first draft that delivers a message of its arrival on your body is like walking into a kitchen and spotting a box with a bow on it in the corner of your eye on your birthday.
For me, autumn is the time for literature and art. Coincidentally, just yesterday I placed an order for a book, a poem collection, that I had been searching for (Thank you, Amazon.com!). I can't wait to spend one Sunday afternoon with it. I read and draw all seasons, but this time of the year seems to inspire me more than any other, evoking the feelings and spirits who didn't seem to reside in me when the summer sun was up above and I wore less clothes. Speaking of which, I also love the fashion choices I can make at this time of the year too: long coats and boots.
Oh, and might I mention, I also feel more... prêt pour l'amour.
I wonder: Is it a human nature that, when the air is chill, you get a sense of longing for a warmth of a living form? A kind that lasts a little longer than, say, a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallow bits in it?
Until next time,