It seems that the past month we have been begging for the mornings to be crisper, wishing to see the shedding leaves collect outside near our apartment stairs. It’s a wee bit torturous eyeballing our chunky sweaters, those that fall on our bodies like a snuggling blanket, and our cargo jackets, those fashioned to warm us for our adventures in the trees, crammed in the corners of our closet, hibernating for just one more month. When we flip the calendar month to October we immediately envision that the weather genie has changed the temperature of the winds, has called upon the pumpkin and squash gardens to multiply like rabbits, and has matched the outside colors to the warm oranges and reds of the Starbucks’ chalkboard designs, layered in pumpkin-this and cinnamon-that.
However, we live in this land known as Phoenix, Arizona. This desert world that at times kindles daydreaming over the Pinterest and Instagram shots of the “perfect” fall season: the layered knits, the dirt paths disappearing into a forest of yellow and orange, and the warming cups of chai tea.