It's flannel pajama weather, snuggle up under the covers with a cat and a book weather, wrap your hands around a big mug of hot coffee/cocoa with the steam rising up and tickling your nose weather. It's scarves, and gloves, and hats, and sweaters. It's fluffy sweater weather! It's winter coat weather. It's see your breath and a chilly wind that makes the brightly colored leaves dance weather. It's make afghans that are so long that you can huddle under them as you crochet them weather. It's invigorating and sad, beautiful and bittersweet. It's fall rapidly turning into winter.

I'd been putting off pulling out my winter coat until the last possible day. That day was today I decided. Part of this is stubbornness and part of this is forgetfulness. It takes a few weeks for grabbing a coat to become a normal part of my out-the-door routine again. I only remembered this morning (before opening the door and getting hit with a blast of cold) because my roommate left three minutes before me in her winter coat. My coat felt strange as I put it on. It was too heavy, and it felt like it was enveloping me, swallowing me whole. The weight of it felt odd as I donned it. And yet I know in a few weeks, it will feel natural again. So much so will it be natural that when I shed it in the spring I will feel light and slightly naked and vulnerable. But for now, I feel as though I am carrying an unexpected burden, a weight and a heaviness that I am not yet ready to bear. I am atlas with the world upon my shoulders, weighted down, no longer able to soar. (yes, I'm mixing up my mythology, ignore it and move on). I love this season, love the leaves, and the crispness in the air, love the bounty of apples, love pulling out sweaters I've not worn in a year and burying my face in their softness, and I hate it, hate the bite in the wind, hate the desolate ways the trees look naked and bare after the leaves fall, hate the sense that winter looms just around the corner to taunt me.