The last few days have finally hit the point where I can taste autumn in the air.
It’s a strange thing, because it’s not so much about temperature (although I used to think it was); indeed, the first day my autumn sense tingled was actually quite warm. And yet it’s absolutely unmistakable. There is something about autumn which charges.
Even when I’m tired, or feeling down, there is a buzz of power that hits me like a burst of energy. It’s raw, and primal, and magical – never do I feel so much like I could reach out and draw forth power from the universe than when autumn is coming in. I find myself feeling excited for the upcoming months, upcoming holidays – halloween, and all its power, and the smell of fireworks night and sparklers and even though I’ve not actually been to a display in years, I still feel it in my mouth and down my throat into my chest, that this is my time of year. Even when the bite in the air triggers my asthma, I fucking love autumn.
When I was a teenager I used to joke that I had reverse SAD – Seasonal Affective Disorder, for those who’ve not come across it – because my depression would worsen in spring and I would feel renewed and revitalised in the months that most people would struggle with. Sure, there’s less daylight, but the only way I can describe it is that the air tastes differently. It’s a physical thing as well as emotional – I feel it, smell it, it moves in my tongue and under my teeth. I go outside and I just want to walk, despite it being 2.30am and really a time when I should be curled up in bed.
NaNoWriMo is just the right time of year for me.
I’m hoping that this magical charge in the air is something I can harness, and channel into writing productivity – something that has slowed down of late, despite writing 150k words in total since the beginning of November last year. I don’t feel bad about my overall work, but I need to get my obsession back. I need that charge, that drive, and autumn is perfect for it.
It makes me think of walking alone, dancing on campus in the car parks at midnight to Michelle Branch, wandering around in a state I used to call ‘ghosting’, where I would pretend I was haunting the university. Launderettes at three in the morning. Twelve years old and trying to manage astral projection.
I fucking love autumn. It is my season.