I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. And I hope Ray, the eternal MC of October, will forgive me for not opening with one of his. First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys, would’ve been a fine choice, too. Today though, I feel like Maud’s words are a better place to start. Plus, as a PBS-raised lad, one of my childhood crushes was Megan Follows, and I think Ray would approve of me letting my boyishness take the lead.
I love October. It always feels like the true beginning of Autumn. It’s when crisp straw-broom breezes sweep up all the apple orchards, pumpkin patches, crackling golden trees, caramels, skeletal corn stalks, cinnamon sticks, and nutmeg seeds, and scatter them about in every direction. It’s when mischief is anticipated and encouraged, even by the virtuous. When specters ride the growing shadows, some full of antagonistic-but-amiable celebration and laughter, and others eager to burn and topple and terrify as much as they can before they’re warded away by winter’s arrival, by collective faith, and by the presence of a different order of spirits who touch our minds with hope and songs of great joy and on earth peace, good will toward men.
San Diego and his friends are welcome to their perpetual springs. Most people would gladly settle under forever-sunny skies. But I need the clouds and the rain and the cider and the hocus-pocus.*
In October, the world transforms. Every yard becomes a graveyard, every leaf skittering down the sidewalk becomes a promise of something mysterious, and every kid running through freshly harvested fields becomes gypsy royalty.
And an even better reason still: I fell in love with my wife in October. I could’ve led with that, and the rest would’ve been a few odd Fun Size Skittles in a pillow case full of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
*Hocus Pocus—arguably humankind’s greatest artistic achievement. We should all just play it on a loop for the next 30 days.