October has returned once again, this month of falling leaves and pumpkin everything. The weather has begun to change, and the slight drop in temperature brings with it that inevitable sense of longing. There’s just something innately lonely about watching your breath leave you, as if even that which sustains you has grown tired of residing within you.

I’ve moved my sweaters to the front of my closet, at any rate. They've waited patiently all year for this month, as if to say, we, at least, are still here. So while my fleeing breath becomes intertwined in the steam rising from my tea, I find solace in too-large woolen sleeves pulled over my fingertips, my knees curled up to my chest.

The wind blows slightly against the exposed part of my neck, sending a shiver up my spine. It would make sense to go inside, to curl up in a mass of blankets, but I like it out here. The crisp air reminds me that I am alive, in this moment. I am awake, and it would be foolish to close my eyes against the fire of the Autumn leaves as they float around me, whispering fervently to go, do, be. 

October is stirring inside of me, tugging at my heart in a way that only October can. This is a month of hot tea and many layers and the murmur of thoughts unspoken. It is a month of longing, but also of hope. And I smile as another cloud of my breath rises with the wind, leaving me for adventures unknown.