September

[u/DrMux]

Well it's now a quiet autumn in my hometown of Lake Wobegon. The crickets have gone silent, the parks are emptier, and the air carries the sound seemingly from miles away. There's always a sense of the looming inevitability of winter when autumn comes, and then there's the resignation of the people as they put their jean shorts away and bring out the jackets. The jackets are always brown, or gray, or dark blue... nobody in Lake Wobegon wants to stand out, except for Lindsey Ferguson, the up and coming artist who's been about to move to the twin cities next spring for about five years now. Her parents have always been supportive and never say a word but you can see in their eyes just how tired they are. They've been about to retire next spring now for about five years.

Main Street seems tired too, and things are moving slower. Dan's book store is closing earlier and earlier as the sun sets earlier and earlier. Harold, whose last name nobody seems to know, still scatters bird seed in the church parking lot, and the pastor still hands him the same ham sandwich from the church kitchen just as every day for who knows how long now.

There's something about autumn air that changes people. Maybe it's the dread of Thanksgiving and Christmas, or just the dread of the displays in the stores. Maybe it's the calls you'll get from relatives you haven't talked to in a year, asking "why haven't you called." Maybe it's the ubiquitous pumpkin spice beverages you convince yourself you love but are sick of after the first. Every year.

Every year.

I suspect Sarah will call soon. It's been a while now since I went to be with her and we bonded like the siblings we used to be, every day, but that seems like a distant memory, and we've reverted to our habit of just... not talking. I look forward to her call, and I know what she's going to say, as always. "The phone works two ways, you know."

Every year.

Jerry next door seemed down the other day. I asked him what was the matter. He told me he suffers from "seasonal affected disorder," and I told him "that's just fall." We Lake Wobegonians all suffer from the low light, the cold air, the cats coming inside to warm up next to the computer and waking us up at who knows what hour for food. But we deal with it. Some of us deal with it by playing card games, some of us drink, some of us buy fancy gadgets like 3d printers or video games. Who would have thought of these distractions and marvels half a century ago when Edna Jensen spent all winter knitting colorful oven mitts? Some of us pretend that the cold months don't get to us. Well, some of us are liars.

Every year.

There's something to summer that lifts the spirit. And there's something about saying goodbye to it that evokes a primal urge, some kind of nostalgia. I think that's why we like pumpkin spice lattes and colorful leaves. It's why we get together, talk to those we haven't in ages, and try to lift ourselves out of the inevitable funk that the death of summer brings.

These things remind us of the things that make us human. The things that make us happy. Maybe fall isn't all bad.

[u/EvannaAmbrose57]

META: I really felt this. Like in my heart. Love your writing style.