Anatomy of a good day
Yesterday morning I got up, noticed the chill coming in from my open window, and thought "I’d better put more covers on the bed tonight." On my way out the front door, I donned the first jacket of fall, which I took off after a few blocks’ brisk walk, with the sunlight still aslant but warming fast. (Too late, I realized I’d forgotten to carry lip balm; today was also the day all the humidity abruptly vanished from the air.) There was no way to do justice to the sheer depth of the sky over us and the still, solemn, not-yet-frost morning, so my coworkers and I all contented ourselves with saying "Perfect weather, yes, if only it were like this all year, what a day."
And the whole day was like that: a sense of quiet as the students took off for an extended weekend; a gratifying message of thanks from a patron I’d helped at the reference desk; the loose ends of the week easily sorted out, for once; more sunlight during my lunch break; actual writing added at the end of the day to my still-in-progress article, which keeps leading me to small discoveries I hadn’t expected to make; a walk downtown to dinner with friends after work; an idea for another writing project, which will, if all works out, be a collaboration; after-dinner gelato at Splendora’s, which was offering seasonally evocative flavors like apple cider (next time I’ll have to try their incredibly rich hot chocolate, which two of my dining companions ordered); and so home and to bed after unearthing the blankets from the linen closet.
This summer hasn’t been the best or easiest of times (she said understatedly). Fall seems more welcome than ever because it brings an end to summer; it’s a sign that there must, in the end, be change, even if it’s only in the air and the leaves and the sudden coolness in the air first thing in the morning. May the leaves turn soon.
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