Something happens in September. It’s when the temperature still feels like summer, yet the calendar tells you there’s been a change of season. It’s when you stubbornly refuse to part your summer outfits, yet a cold night breeze forces you to acknowledge the change that is on its way.
It’s not winter that is coming yet. It’s autumn that is already here. And you realise it as soon as the first clouds darken the sky and the first sounds of rain cause you to stir out of your afternoon nap.
It’s when you find out that you do need a sweater, if not a jacket, to walk out during the evenings, and when you have to check the weather in case you need to make an umbrella an essential part of your bag.
Something comes with this change of season. It is all the talk of a new start, with everyone blatantly flagging how excited they are for new goals, new beginnings etc etc. By the time December arrives, all of this will be forgotten.
Yet, there is a sweet melancholy that arrives with the autumn clouds; the change in the atmosphere and the crackling of fallen leaves on the ground. It is perhaps the acknowledgement that things are indeed changing, no matter how much you try to deny it. We change because it is how we move on. How we evolve. Whether we like it or not, we are forced to do something different with every new season. Boredom leads to illnesses more of the mind than the body. So we need to be creative, to do things, to keep our minds busy. There is a beauty in every (changing) month or season. We just have to be open enough to welcome it in.