Right now I am sitting barefoot on a tall chair in the school library. Before I was here I was sitting barefoot on the school swing under the school trees and before that I was walking barefoot on a few crunchy school leaves along a row of school trees and for the first time was feeling like I do at home. Because this is my homeweather* (see Important Neologistical Footnote). Almost always when September comes I like to land and breathe, and almost always also observe curiously a poignant gentle sadness and joy/longing that seems to be reserved in my head for this period of time between today and the cold. It's fall, now. The whole meaning of the air is autumn. You have to have felt what I feel to know what I mean, but it is the first day when you can look out a window and tell it's here. Something in the light; brighter, crisper? You have to have seen what I see to know what I'm saying, that the light of a season is distinct to itself, its very own colour and idea. Autumn light is clear, and thin and sharp like the first bite of an apple.
I thought I should also say that maybe sometime soon I'll write things. A million shapes have changed, inside and around me but a million more haven't. The weather still starts turning after summer and I still go all crazy happy and want to tell someone about it. People ask me what I want to do and I still say music, because I still think that explains everything.
* Important Neologistical Footnote:
Homeweather is kind of like homeboy/girl/fry/slice, only slightly more atmospherical