on the cusp.

15 Aug
The wind blows through my sun-drenched hair, tickling my scalp and sending chills spidering down my spine. 
 
Unlike the hot summer wind, full of water and the chirps of birds, this wind is crisp, cool. Full of the heady scents of grass and dirt and leaves. 
 
I shiver, thankful for the oversized Slapshot sweatshirt and black leggings that have become my after work, before bed, uniform as of late. 
 
The wind blows again, sending the freshly fallen leaves swirling around me as though I was stuck in a snow globe, and I am transported back in time. 
 
Back to high school as I dash down the turf, skirt flying and sticks clashing, at a field hockey game against Lake Forest, our biggest rival.
 
Cool evening walks to The Noodle, under a canopy of leaves tinged with the briefest hint of yellow.
 
Reclined and wrapped up in a blanket watching the city lights twinkle and sway to the motion of the boat as the last fireworks of the season thunder and sparkle off of Navy Pier.
 
Bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins and drinking spiced rum and hot apple cider at “Fall fest” with the people that shaped my adult life.
 
And Saturday morning marathon training runs on the lake with the strongest girl I’ve ever known, the dreamsicle orange sunrise illuminating the skyscrapers so they mimic the yellows and ruby reds of the oak leaves.
  
And for a second I’m there.
 
Home. 
 
Chicago.
 
Fall. 
 
fall
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