I hate the summer. I adore the fall. And every year it still stuns me, the way that leaves change, reinventing the world in reds, oranges, yellows and golds. There’s something comforting about the hazy glow of dimming fall light. A chill in the air, pumpkins, apple cider and apple picking. The way that the colors fade into something that can only be akin to your grandmother’s afghan from the 70s.
I’m always going to miss the idealized fall, the fall in my head, the brilliant colors and nostalgic sepia tones.
I don’t think I’m ever moving back to New England.