Oh, October

Fall feels different, this year. An impenetrable orange. A Saturday in Boston and a Sunday building a pantry from scratch, with my love. Nights walking through the Old Rez, hand-in-hand, in sweaters and picking out pumpkins at Wilson Farm. 

Our home is starting to have that perfect lived-in quality, where the wood molds to the shape of your feet and the lights see you coming. Where the staircases start singing and the kitchen starts to riddle off your grocery list. As if to say we belong here. As if to say the walls have been here since the Revolution and we can start our own revolution in the living room. 

We sign contracts, each line of our pen another root we choose to lay. We build routines and get our butts on the Peloton. We drive on the expressway and paint-by-numbers; the trees flirting in yellows and burnt reds. It is too beautiful. Baked goods to neighbors and feeling community brewing, beautiful. Filling the squares on the calendar with dates and friends and forever, beautiful. 

And so it begins, as the other chapter ends. But as the beginning and the always blur against autumn-eyes, we will continue to shape all that comes next. Oh, October, you are such a chameleon. Last year, you gave and you took away. This year, you give with both hands and, I know, I clutch them too fervently. Grateful as ever for the kind of sunset where stars peek from behind their bedtime stories and the cresent of the moon flips into a smile.
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