It was in the air last night, crisp like wind, an apple, starched shirts, vodka on the rocks.
The atmosphere chilled to the perfect temperature. As sun sets, the breeze doesn’t so much increase as it does intensify, deepening until it begins an almost ungentle assault on skin. Symbols of the seasons palpably intertwine to convey the distinct impression that it’s a renewal moment. We bid adieu to what is no longer in our control. Out of our hands, beyond us, yet because of us, some sort of cycle is about to begin all over again. In these autumn months we seek the company of others, and walk toward companionship, if only to keep us warm, as chill sets up shop and prepares for winter.
As we shift like seasons within our lives, we wish for discernment, for a chemistry both potent and proper, mellifluous and meaningful. We add extra layers to protect ourselves against a coming frost.
You’d call them winds of change, if they weren’t so familiar, so unimaginably same.