Fall has fallen hard here in Chicago. No, that’s not quite accurate. Chicago has run, laugh-crying and tripping over itself with arms wide open while jostling others out of the way, into the cold and spindly arms of Autumn. Chicago will regret this; Autumn is a fickle lover, all color and crisp air and bright sun at first, but in a heartbeat can morph into a cold and distant Winter, moody and dark and bitter. Chicago did not spend enough time sweating on the beach with Summer, but I can’t say I blame Chicago much for that. This year Summer was not present but absentminded, its hot energy focused somewhere else; I’m thinking the southwest. Disappointed and lonely, Chicago put up with Summer’s distracted attention, and is probably why it ran to Autumn so quickly. Autumn promised Chicago Pumpkin Spice Lattes and crisp sleeping weather and that it would never, ever again slide into that bastard Winter like it did last year, knowing that Chicago would desperately believe whatever story it was told. Chicago does not want to deal with crazy-eyed Winter and its dangerous Polar Vortex alter-ego again.
So it is fall. And it is chilly and damp and I am wearing my winter layers already, the earliest I have ever piled them on. Did not expect to dig out the wool socks the second week of September, but here we are. Soon the fingerless gloves will join in and the party will be in full swing. I suspect this winter will rival last year’s, and that has me in full-on Winter Disaster Prep mode. It’s time to hunt down more gloves and scarves and boots and a new long down coat for me and layers and layers and more layers.
I’m not ready for fall and it’s eventual disintegration into winter. Summer never got hot enough long enough for me to view the cooler temps as a welcome and blessed relief. The days suddenly seem so much shorter and darker, and you can just feel the change of season descending upon your shoulders, smothering your soul like the heavier clothes drape upon your skin. Uncovered dermis, I will miss you, see you next summer. If I could shower wearing layers I sometimes think I would.
Six months of chill and cold ahead.
Here we go.