I have a tendency to overindulge in sweets, especially on Halloween—candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!—and especially when watching bad horror movies with my boyfriend and my best friend. This year I decided to prepare for the evening’s sugary feast by going for a four-mile morning jog in the New York Botanical Gardens.
I’m a summer girl. I wear humidity like
a second skin. Sunshine means freedom,
hope, peace. I even love the stench of
this city. And during rainstorms, I walk
barefoot and joyous in its streets.
I learn to feel all things completely.
But this year the chill doesn’t bother me
so much. It reminds me I am flesh,
tissue and muscle and bone—and inside
an untouchable core: a tabernacle
for all the words I have yet to say.
I learn to let them go.
For me, autumn means crunchy leaves, crisp wind during a run, and apple picking. Though I think we went a little late in the season this year since most of the apples had already fallen from the trees, Todd and I still had a great time apple picking with my parents at Barton Orchard in Poughquag, New York. Row upon row of apple tree promised to fill our bag, with varieties like Rome, Fuji, Macintosh, Ida Red, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, and more. I also really wanted to venture into the five-acre corn maze, but unfortunately the day turned rainy and so we decided to just call it a day and buy some apple salsa, cherry apple butter, and both a berry pie and a pumpkin pie.