The Winds of October
A humble tale of forging new paths within the foliage.
Softly a gentle breeze flits through the stifling air of an aging summer. As I walk the cracked path, it’s almost as if I can hear the faintest whisper of change. The greenery in the trees above betrays the slight chill that slowly penetrates the humidity around me. The skin on my arms perks up at the small sensation, and I can already feel autumn’s embrace calling.
Sliding into the season, the breeze becomes stronger. The t-shirts give way to jackets, and the path becomes littered with leaves, a mosaic of the world in beautiful transition. I hop from one to the other, wishing for each of its veiny magnificence to transport me to a place that would stay like this always. Time standing still amid an interlude that oscillates daily. A perfect dichotomy to lose oneself in and wade back into the flowing tones of orange, brown, and gold.
It is difficult to traverse the path now with fall in full force. The chill swirls around me, seeking to envelop me in its twisted delights and wicked splendors. The evenings encroach sooner and sooner, and the sun dims its rays as if to invite the darkness. I am not scared, I feel at home here, even as the wind beckons at my back. It pushes me forward, compelling my boots to hit the pavement with a fevered step. Whipping around it descends its chilling currents to wrap around my arms, lifting me, and towards the end of the way. Why bother walking when I could ride the air of autumn instead?
Dusk is approaching now as the season grows older and begins its brief marriage with winter. My hair tousles through the turbulent gusts, still cradling my body within its bountiful harvest. No longer am I an observer of fall, I am a part of it now as my limbs enmesh with the colors of the trees. Higher and higher this wind takes me as the atmosphere curls up into a frenzied mass of symphonic nature. The biting cold of the coming snow doesn’t phase me, and I sink further into the loving hands of my autumnal mother.
Suddenly, and without ceremony, I am dropped back onto the ground under a heap of leaves. They crunch under the weight of me fighting my way out. I charge forth as if out of the mouth of a nocturnal beast, ready to face the end of the path I have been on for so long. The destination is not reached, however, and I realize there is far more to go. I can feel the presence of all the winds now, sisters in allegiance with renewal. I learned now that their reliable and sturdy blows were not concerned with the hubris of human certainty. They know what they provide is the change some people need to keep going.
So, here I was, face to face with my scenic shepherds bidding them a farewell as I turn back around to the path. It would be unsurprising to tell you I notice there are two to pick from, each seemingly identical. Although, one smelled of fiery nights, tasted like cider, and swaddled me in its promise of new lands. The other only offered the dull comforts of a life drowning in the familiarity of seasons past. The sting of air catches me once again, as I feel the wind’s insistent breath upon the nape of my neck. Staring into the deep midnight of the forest’s foliage, I begin my journey.
Written in response to the monthly theme and as a general appreciation for this time of year! Thanks to Ravyne Hawke for inspiring all of our spooky sides to come out to play.
