the air that precedes November

The crickets sing at the end of summer. The height, maybe. No. The end. The end is the height. It's the height and then CRACK like that you need slippers in the morning and you start wondering about how dry the woodpile is. The window of your brain has been redressed and it includes a diorama with pumpkins and haystacks. Because that's what a brain does. No matter how sophisticated the manner of its thinking, a brain wants to wear brain-shaped acrylic sweaters with bedazzled kittens and reindeer and bluebirds and witches on broomsticks. Brains love the SEASONAL aisle. So, right now: pumpkins.

The crickets are urgently loud. They know they're almost done. This new air cuts summer off with a sharp and discernable edge and everybody feels it. All of nature says Hurry up! Make noise! We are almost a going-to-sleep. Joy, the duvet. Awake at 6 AM I peer through the window at mist so thick it looks like ice. I wonder if I'd see my breath out there. I want to. The daytime warms up and tricks us into thinking the summer hangs on but the night and I have a secret. It knows and I know too.

I want the canoe and I want my boots. Big-ass boots. That's what I want. And nubbly sweaters and wooly tights and jeans that feel like girdles. You know. The heavy, restrictive kind that make you feel all tucked-in. I want all the windows thrown open, our bedroom a meat locker. I want to huddle under feathers that feel four feet thick. I want stews and porridge and mittens and woodsmoke and bats. I want to finish the next book. I have to, by November. I am jaw-clenchingly wanting of that. I wake up in the meat locker with my face squeezed shut and sore with wanting. I soothe myself with what I said to my babies: Limp and loose, limp and loose. That's the way to be. Except with my babies I was talking about pooping. Not writing.

Still.

How's the air where you are? What's it make you want?

Comments

[Veronica]

It's cold here, still. With flashes of warmth and sunshine peeking through the clouds, a few minutes at a time. I have baby chickens, just born, a month too early for them and ducklings due in a fortnight - the animals predict an early Spring.

But it's cold and I am craving warm nights and barbeques and sunshine.

[Alison]

This has been the most confused year for me, perhaps ever, and, maybe most obvious is how completely effed up my seasons have been. After a very warm summer, I went to New York at the tail end of winter (in March). And it's bitterly cold and the wind sweeps through the city leaving goosebumps and hardened snot but there's nothing cosier than being adorable and cosy and in scarves and cute hats, a hand in the boyfriend's coat pocket.

Then I headed in your direction and, as perfectly Four Feet Thick and warm as the cabin bed is, I don't remember ever having colder feet than when I tiptoed out to say goodbye to the boys. And I remember that they just switched to sneakers instead of boots and Ben was wearing THE FLAMES, which meant you were switching seasons but I was STILL FREEZING, only a month after sweating my ass off in sunny Tasmania.

Then I arrived back to Tasmania to the end of autumn, and it started getting cold. I was home for 9 weeks before HEADING NORTH AGAIN TO THE SWEATBOX, FIREY INFERNO HELL of New York/Jersey. The only perfect weather I encountered was in Nova Scotia, and instead of slabs of frozen pork for feet, I chased Ben around the flowers with no shoes on, and he chased me with the hose and it didn't matter.

And now I'm home, and it's freezing but sunny in the day time. A hint of spring, just as Veronica said.

But this season mixup and back and forth has done a number on me, this year. I don't know what to expect next. So, the air, much like everything else, is confusing. Thanks for asking. ;)

[Lindsey]

The air has the same sharp edge, suddenly, here, and it makes me sad at the same time as I kind of welcome it. I just had my birthday and have a new theory that part of my predisposition towards sadness, the way that I preemptively grieve a moment even in the midst of it is from being born in the second half of August. A time that seems all about that, about turning towards a new season and the cold even when it is still hot. That secret that you and the night have? It runs in my veins too, all the time.
xox

[Mary]

The air is thick with mouse shit. They are migrating in, despite the fact that I have a cat named Hunter who was fabricated for murder. So now I have to put the butter in the fridge, unless I want to share. The air is also thick with tomatoes, waiting on the vine to turn red, and dahlias that have yet to bloom. Please cold, wait for the bounty. And for me to can it all.

[Christine]

We've suffered a tremendous loss this past week, so I'm hoping for fall. For crisp mornings, the early evening darkness and hush.

Mostly I'm hoping and wishing for things to begin again "normally" and for my life to return to some semblance of normal, whatever it may turn out to be now.

[Christine (spiral bound)]

I wore a jacket to commute this morning, for the first time since there were still patches of snow on the ground. Lately it's been tea in the evenings, rather than fresh fruit smoothies. I made banana-nut muffins last night. We unfolded the comforter. I think we are on our way to autumn. This year I have a friend from back home (Vancouver) in town too, so there are plans for apple-picking, making pies and preserves, Halloween movie marathons, lantern-making, cider sipping. I know most people live for summer but for me, fall has always been the fullest, spiciest, tastiest season.
I loved this post. My head's full of pumpkins and mittens and porridge too.

[Carin]

I'm trying to hold on to summer for as long as I can, because I can't stand winter. I hate hate hate it, because of how unnavigable the snow makes the sidewalk. Try walking down an unploughed sidewalk with your eyes closed. Can you even tell sidewalk from snowbank? Do you know where you are? Once, Trixie, my guide dog, saved me from falling down a flight of stairs. I had no idea where they were. I had no idea I was about to hit them. None. Because people mostly clear snow from the places they drive, slamming it up on the places we walk! I still must walk in the winter, you know, even if it's just to the bus stop! Ok, rant over. I don't mind fall, except for the reminder it gives me. Winter is coming. Winter is coming. I love Christmas, can't stand the rest of winter.

[Bon]

i feel it this morning, for the first time. kids back at the sitter's after two weeks of holiday, time finally to write and try not to sink myself in the self-doubt of procrastination and with the spring in my step as i skip down the stairs i smell fall and think, jeans, not shorts. and for all i am getting old and don't want summer to end for fear i find myself buying a Florida condo, it is good, that crispness in the air.

[Tania]

AIr? Chilly and wet, swirly and wild. There are frosted fingers and ice block feet and it’s a wintry winter like the kind we had when I was a kid. Damn fine knit knit knitting weather.

[cjm]

The air here is ridiculously hot. Like heat index of 110 hot. It makes me want your ability to throw open the windows without the simple act of it breaking you into a sweat. And sweet tea. And a pool.

[Erika P]

Beautiful, Kate. The past week or so here, we've had a couple of gloriously clear, cool, blue-sky days mixed into the mugginess and heat of August. Those days remind me so much of the time that my first baby was born and the time my second should have been. They both had due dates in September; he is eagerly anticipating his 4th birthday, but she was born still last July. This weather makes me want a baby to snuggle with; it makes me want and miss her - the little one-year-old girl who should be here. But you remind me of all the other parts of autumn that I love. That first September-like day last week hit me hard and I was relieved when the next day was muggy and summery again, but somehow reading this has made it a little easier to breathe. So thanks for that, and best of luck with the new book.

[schmutzie]

Cold and wet.
Flannel, and for my words to come back.

[Natalie]

The air feels thick with possibility, wet with urgency and light with laughter and dancing. I don't feel the cool yet...although a part of me knows, when stepping onto the wet grass each morning, that the crisp mornings of September are almost here. And I don't really mind, not yet.

But right now....I want so much....so much of it all. I want to drink everything in. Everything feels immediate, everything feels like it's 100% alive, right, now. Things still feel hot, things still feel sexy. I feel in the thick of things, in a positively good way.

The air is making me want overfilled picnics, early evening swims, cold beer, patio lights, barbecued breakfast and sex, lots of it. I feel like I am in a Feist song all of a sudden....because I feel it all.

[jen]

It's almost still Summer here. Except last night when I was out running, the air turned cool. Which did not happen a mere two weeks ago. I love Fall. I'm ready for apple crisp and boots and scarves. And not feeling like I just got done running when I haven't.

[kathleen]

it is hot here, thick and hot. i've got a pink nose and sweaty back and bugs are everywhere.

i want cider. i want certainty, and sure. i want to skip september.

[Virginia Williams]

I smelled it, a few weeks ago, the coming of fall. The air was changing, the slant of light just slightly different from summer's height - less sharp, softer. The air here now is damp and cool. And I"m not ready for winter's descent, nor autumn's. I never am. I want summer's heat and light and the promise of endless days and time slowing down and almost, almost, standing still.

[m]

We've had the BC forest fire smoke for the last few days which has brought on a strong feeling of fall. I want summer back and I want it stay for at least another month, but I fear it's gone.

And what I really want is to get back to my writing which won't happen until October. Ugh.

[K.B.]

The air is cool but humid here. Kind of sticky and brisk at the same time, really weird. Like fall is trying to take over, but summer's not ready to let go yet.

I'm not ready to let go yet either. I absolutely adore summer. Walking out of the AC and into the damp wall of 30 degrees is bliss for me. Plus, my little boy was born in September, so this means he'll be another year older, and I'll reflect on how fast time goes and get all weepy remembering the day I brought him home...

[Elizabeth]

The air crescendos, here, in southern California in August. The sea is at last, warm, the air around it hot and dry. September is the cruelest month, the beginning of fires, the only month I long for a different climate.

[Bethany]

The air is cool and wet here, because it's been raining for days, but there is a touch of fall in the air. The breeze is cooler and the light looks different, and the change of the seasons always feels like possibility.

[TracyOC]

I had this same thought this morning only in my mind it was a lot less pretty...more like, "If I have to manage the damn morning dog walk in the dark, I at least want to be able to wear a friggin' sweater while I do it." I think you said it better.

[amanda]

hot and humid here. stupidly hot and humid really. i'm more than ready for autumn but here in south louisiana we shan't catch even a glimpse of it before end of october. send a little meat locker weather down, won't ya?

[jillian]

every day has been sunnyblue and warm since I arrived in Portland, Maine seven weeks ago, but I notice a Canadian - I think it's Canadian - crispness in the air every evening. Today is truly cool, cloudy, and portends all the fallish wonder I was waiting for all the Septembers I lived in Mexico. I want the scent of yellow leaves crunching underfoot, woodfire smoke, apples and gourds and Sleepy Hollow woodsy spookiness. I want to see the freezing ocean at Plimouth Rock. I want brown, velvet blazers with puffy shoulders and brown buttons. I cannot wait to experience firsthand every single element of New England in my bones that could not be extinguished by the tropical burn of Yucatan.

[Jen/LA]

hmm... the air? I hadn't stopped to consider it today, except that last we had a thunderstorm and that brought hope. But that is gone now. It is 97 degrees F outside. It feels like 101... and that is cooled down from last week. the humidity hovers anywhere from 50%-90%. It is just stinking hot! And I ask myself, why do I love the deep south?

I love that my skin has never looked more radiant ala the humidity, I love the thrum of the cicadas every evening and morning that make the air vibrate with life, like you stepped onto the dance floor and the dj is going to play your favorite song. I love that it won't go below 80 degrees until the end of September and when it does fall and winter hang out like old friends on vacay, the good kind. Cleans up after themselves, doesn't impose too much but what a delight to see their crisp, clean faces all new and you'd forgotten how much you loved them until they get here... I'd probably trade you though, right up until snowboots came into the picture :)

[tanya]

The air is hot and humid here ... thick and wet. My body becomes immediately wet, clothes limp when I walk outside. It is 94 degrees in the shade.

I hate it.

It makes me lonesome for minnesota and all things fall: for crisp mornings warmed with good coffee; for crunchy leaves underfoot; for brisk winds and sweaters, cold feet and wool socks; for the smell of the house with the windows open and a pot of soup on the stove.

Last year it was 85 degrees on Halloween night and we had to wear bug spray, and our costumes had to modified for the heat ... I am coming to live with you if that happens again ;)

[mamie]

ah the irony of this. i was just contemplating writing a post about how i forget the fact that summer in southern california actually starts in august and does not end until november ... the shifting of the season has me discombobulated and contemplating planting more cucumbers in the raised beds because we might actually get another crop in this, the hottest time in our world.

i long sometimes for the place that would allow me to wear the wooly knit sweaters i am so fond of making. i guess i will just have to knit one and send it to your side of the world. now, i just need to know if you prefer tweedy wool or screaming hot pink cables. and i need it to cool down 30 degrees so that i can actually bear to touch wool and needles #you'redreaming.

(twitter has so inculcated my mind that i hashtag all my inner mind stream thoughts. i have to tell bon about that).

[Sweetsalty's Mom]

Be sure and take a picture and post it of Ben with his "graduation certificate".
<<<HUGS>>> all round!

[misty]

I love fall. Probably because I love my big thick knit socks that come up to my knees. I can slide all over the floors in them.

[Amy]

I grew up in Pennsylvania and I hated August. I hated the intense heat of that part of summer and the fact that it wasn't cool September yet. Then I moved to Maine where August is DIVINE. Suddenly in the beginning of the month it is cool at night and I love needing to run upstairs to get a sweater and some socks. I'm a teacher and I've always loved school, even as a kid, so gearing up for a new school year is one of my favorite times of year. I should be sewing my new school bag right now, in fact.

[V-Grrrl @ Compost Studios]

In Virginia, last winter was unexpectedly fierce. Spring was unexpectedly lush. Summer has been sweltering, often oppressive.

I hate the heat. Summer gives me a twisted version of cabin fever.

What I long for is a chance to get back into the woods and not worry about copperheads, ticks, mosquitoes and horseflies. I want to be able to BREATHE again.

[Emily]

August came to northern Germany, and with it, autumn. It was such a sharp, unexpected drop after months of parched hot air. In the middle of July, there weren't even flies buzzing lazily - it was just too damn dry. Then, out of nowhere, this month of slick cool rain. I can feel my pores opening up. Newly pregnant, I am glad to pull on layers and take another piece of cake, open my umbrella and take meandering walks in the forest next to the river.

It has been the best of summers, and has filled me up in so many ways - but I'm ready to prep for hibernation by making curries and stews to welcome this chilly wet weather. But who's making me an apple pie with extra cinnamon?

[Cara]

The air here in central Florida is hot and heavy, with humidity so thick it lays on the skin like a wet blanket. The heat index says it will be a 110. Fall is still a distant dream, and we wait instead for the evening rain. Only after the rain is there any relief, and for a few hours we can breathe deeply. So,until then we hide inside, with air conditioning set to 80 and the air nice and dry.

[Gwen]

We just had a long spell of what I called Indian Winter but what the Swiss called yes, this is how our weather is all year long. Yesterday it was summer again. Today it was wet. Tomorrow will be another adventure, I'm sure.

Mostly, I just want to run because that brain-shaped acrylic sweater has grown mighty itchy.

[Kristin]

Nobody has the power of words to make me crave winter. Except you.

The sun is shining and the Cove is sparkling and now I want my nubby tights, and Pumpkin beers at Steamworks - you coming out this year?

[6512 and growing]

limp and lose...I like that. Maybe it does apply to writing a little bit.

Here the air smells ripe, like every growing thing bursting into seed and it's giving me the melancholies.

[amber]

The air here is a stinging whip, hot and heavy and full of oppressive force. It makes me want to take off my clothes and jump in a public fountain. 107 today, with a heat index of 112! Sigh.

[Jennie]

The air here is hot and stifling. It is thick and almost provokes a sickening feeling in the gut. It is wretched and unforgiving and makes me think humans don't really belong here. Flip flops and tank tops were fun the first three months, but now, with a heat index of 105, we are desperate for cooler weather. We long to play outside for hours in the late afternoon. Even the swimming pools are hot. Everyone seems annoyed, irritated, and even angry.The grass is scorched. And something about it all feels very wrong. I suppose it's that global warming issue in the back of my mind, that we have done this, caused this heat wave, and the earth is paying us back for what we've done.

Writing from Texas. Thanks for asking :)

[thordora]

I'm craving the fall and the rains to spend a weekend with my lover in a canoe, lazy and quiet, and then the nights curled together like cats, reading under down.

And no more humidity.

[thepsychobabble]

I see the similarities between taking a poo and writing some times. lol

[Major Bedhead]

This was lovely.

It's finally getting cool here, too. Today was like England. A soft day, drizzly and cool. It made me want to dive into the L.L. Bean Catalog and not come up until I was clad in flannel-lined jeans and a barn coat.

[Brianna]

The air here is telling me very loudly and very clearly that it wants me dead. It wants me dissolved into a puddle of sweat in the middle of my living room to act as a reminder that it still has some venom left to distribute before it calls it quits for the year.

I can't even begin to think about sweaters, brain-shaped or otherwise. But it sounds nice.

[Corinne]

We've had hints, fleeting scents and a few red leaves... it leaves me wanting all you wrote about.
Lovely. Absolutely lovely.

[Rene Foran]

It seems summer is closing her door here in NH. But she can be a tease, sometimes leaving it ajar until early November. I noticed at 8:00 tonight it was pitch dark. It wasn't that way just a week ago. I am ready for change, for color. For thick sweaters and static shock :)...
I am a KIndergarten Aide and I am ready to see my new babies...my little caterpillars.
I am ready to keep them safe, warm, happy and curious as they learn how to be butterflies.

I have always loved the transitional time between seasons, for me this is where the beauty of a life well lived is most evident.

Peace ~ Rene

[Carol]

It's still sweltering here. Then again, as you know, winter doesn't come to Vancouver until the end of November, and it is over by February... spring is long, summer is almost as long, but fall and winter flicker by.

[Angella]

The air here smells of The Turn To Fall and as it does every year, it makes me sad. For while Fall in itself is fine and good and dandy, It also means (DUN DUN DUNNNN) that Winter is coming. Sigh.

[Cheryl Arkison]

You totally captured the moment that makes me think of fall in Nova Scotia, and it's been almost 15 years since I experienced that.

For me, I noticed that the light changed. It isn't summer light, not at all. But the leaves are still green, the thunderstorms still rage, and the peaches are still juicy. But the light isn't summer at all.

Enjoy the writing.

[Hannah]

I love this time of year - nothing beats opening all the windows at night and snuggling under a duvet. That run of humidity just about did me in.

This is a lovely piece of writing.

[mosey]

I've lived in Northern California for 15 years (transplanted from Ontario) and I'm still confused. It's been chilly and foggy all summer and even with that, I'm ready for brisk, crispy blue sky days and a fire. But it's 97 Fahrenheit all of a sudden.

I think I need a trip home to walk on crunchy leaves soon....

[Neil]

Los Angeles is the worst place to live to achieve anything. Summer lasts 3/4 of the year, and you still still women in bikini tops and flip-flops in January. I miss the New York fall most of all. The air gets crisp, and God tells you that it is time to get back to work.

[angelica]

I live in Holland, for a full 17 months now, and the weather here is insane. Take today, started off deceivingly cleared, so we took a ride to school and froze our butts off. By the time I had gone home and back to bring my baby a jumper, she was out of the socks due to the heat. afternoon was bliss, sunny northern european summer, with yellow leaves lathered on the floor, like they are rehearsing for autumn. and now? lightning and thunder.