Autumn

Autumn feels like promises kept.

Autumn feels like waking up to chilled air and warm comforters, like holding your coffee mug with both hands as the heat radiates into your palms, like looking out at the changing leaves with sleepy, peaceful eyes.

Autumn feels like a reassuring hug at the end of a long day.

Autumn feels like the glow of a roaring fire, like the evening air at your back, like the hooded sweatshirt you snuggle into with your eyes on the flames.  Autumn feels like the heaters turning on for the first time, the sound and the smell synonymous with comfort and home.

Autumn feels like warm apple cider, like a set of fuzzy warm socks, like decorations that feel more sincere than the Christmas variety.

Autumn feels like the clarity that comes once the fever breaks.

Autumn feels like the brisk, crisp cleanness that wins out over the haze and heat — like the rushed busyness of summer has simmered, like you’ve been given permission to slow down.

Autumn feels like an old song on the radio, played with the car windows down and the breeze zipping past you. Autumn feels like nostalgia and adventure, the familiar and the edge.

Autumn feels like acceptance.

Autumn feels like the swan song of nature — a beautiful symphony of colors and sensations before the inevitable chill, the inevitable darkness and ending.  Autumn feels like a reminder that the ending can be gorgeous and breathtaking and so much more than a sign of what’s gone.

Autumn feels like the beauty in letting things change, in letting things be. Autumn feels like what happens when you let things run their course, when you embrace the cycle of all things, with hope and faith that a new one will begin.

Autumn feels like golden sunsets, like gentle twilight, like a clear night with the North Star shining brightly before you. Autumn feels like Polaris, like Cassiopeia, like every mythos and truth rolled into one.

Autumn feels like home, like homecoming.

Autumn feels like the freedom in moving on.