We stopped hoping for just one more hot Indian summer day. Geese
can be seen heading south, flying in the distinct “V” pattern—I see their
annual migration as a local version of “rats abandoning a sinking ship.”
Suddenly, there’s nothing more tempting than to curl up under a cozy throw or
eat a steamy hot bowl of something rich and filling. Gloves are paired, tuques
are washed and scarves are ready to block wind. This evening we were five women
hesitating between several ultra-moisturizing Nivea creams at Walmart. It’s
fall, for real.
Feng is watching the MLB World Series and the NHL season
started so whenever I glance at the TV screen I see either a bunch of guys
standing around waiting for a ball to be thrown at them or on-ice fights.
Mark is looking forward to Halloween, possibly his favourite
holiday because it involves scary monsters and all-you-can-eat candies.
Meanwhile, I started drinking hot tea again and I’m already
sleeping under two blankets.
Yep, it’s fall.
It’s the season of endless downpours, days that could be
warm enough if it wasn’t for the chilly northern wind, freshly harvested apples
and colourful squash, hot drinks and thick soups, scary movies and sweet
It’s also the “not yet, please!” season. Christmas calendars, road salt and ice melt are already prominently displayed in most supermarkets but it feels too early to plan for what’s coming—well, you must have heard Jon Snow saying it.