Say no if you want, but I’m doing it anyway. I refuse to acknowledge October. Don’t get me wrong–I have nothing against October. I love October. October is my homey. But there is either something seriously wrong with October, or there is something seriously wrong with my calendar, because it is not supposed to be 88 degrees in October. This is the time of year when the leaves start turning gentle shades of yellow and orange before they placidly drift to the ground. There are leaves falling now, but they are shriveled and black and dead. This is the time of year when I pull out my soft sweaters and funky warm socks. I have a sweater at work, but I only put it on when the air conditioner gets too chilly because it’s trying to protect us from the flames of hell that are licking the blazing metal surface of our building. This is the time of year when I revel in cool rainy days. It has not rained here, excepting a sprinkle here and there, in months. It is hot and dry. Initially I preferred this to hot and humid, but now I’m just sick of hot. I am even sick of warm. I would welcome cool, but really, I secretly want cold. I want to wear gloves and scarves. I want my plants to die from natural causes, not from plain thirst (we are no longer allowed to water yards and outdoor plants). I want to dress my daughter in the fall and winter clothes hanging unused in her closet.
October, if you’re out there, we’re waiting for you. Come quickly. Bring rain and lots of it. It’s time for this greedy September to hit the road, and it’s going to take some doing.