Cold, weak sunlight filtered through the browning trees on my walk into work. It was dark and blustery on my way home. It's the first day that it feels like a new season, even though our leaves have barely turned and only a few have fallen. I feel that this autumn, though glorious the past few weeks, has just gone before its prime. I am feeling unusually pessimistic about the long dark months to come. I often look forward to the transitions of seasons, excited about the novelty of the food and clothing I haven't thought about in a year, the ritual social events that mark each season. This year feels different. I think it's because I have no concrete thing to look forward to in the next few months. Not in a hopeless, depress-y way, just in the way of no big trips or events or things to eagerly anticipate. Eager anticipation, for me, is often more fun than the actual event.
I hope that before too long I can pin my hopes on something to carry me through the cold and dark winter.
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