I love these gray October days. When the clouds form a tattered blanket over the sky, and the leaves that have turned orange stand bright against the dull. Bare branches carve their way upwards.
There’s a damp, because maybe it just rained, and the air is clean. It’s cold enough that you can wear gloves if you want to, a hat if you’ve been waiting to pull the knitted yarn over your ears. Or you can go without, and feel the skin on your fingers and cheeks come alive.
Then you come inside, where air that hadn’t felt so warm before wraps you in a soft cocoon, and you sit on the couch with your tea and a dog worn out from too many smells, and you look out your window on a day that seems to stand perfectly still.