All the fall things

In the midst of a 90-something-degree day last week, my dress sticking to me in the nearly oppressive heat of my barely air-conditioned office, I felt a sudden, aching, insatiable pang:

I. Wanted. Pumpkin.

All things pumpkin.

Flavored. Scented. Colored. Shaped.

Pumpkin.

Fall.

October.

I wanted October. I wanted the heat to leave. I wanted the leaves to crunch. I wanted the air to snap. I wanted to trade my nearly-bare feet for fleece-lined tights and Mary Janes, my sundresses for trendy scarves and puffy vests.

Today has been a decently cool(er) day, and I write this in the lull between two severe evening thunderstorms. The air has cooled deliciously. The wind is bullying the trees, letting them know that soon — very soon — it will win, and they will let loose of their leafy canopies and give in to the inevitable nakedness of winter.

For now, though, my window is open, the sound of the wind is soothing in its roughness, my blankets are warm, and my winter-tale book is intriguing.

I'm not giving in to the pumpkin craving. Not yet.

But I'm letting my cold-weather lethargy win, basking in the 60-watt glow of my bedside lamp, in the luxury of in-bed reading. Tonight, in mid-August, I'm relishing a bit of October.

I can't wait for September to end, so I can declare in solidarity with Anne Shirley: "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

We're supposed to be back in the 90s next week.

My front-row seat for the first storm of the night.