It takes a minute. To shift gears. To get into the gear.
One minute, I have a thin cotton scarf across my shoulders to protect me from the heat of the summer sun. The next minute, I’ve got thin gloves and my trench coat at the ready for the morning and evening walks. In short: it’s autumn, button up.
There’s also the gentle (yet persuasive) pull to stay inside, put the kettle on, read more fiction than summer ever seems to allow. I caught myself thinking a few days ago that I could easily go the next few weeks without making plans of any kind, other than to take gradual steps into the days of the new season. Into falling leaves. Slowing down. Listening closely. Long breaths. And all that …
I noticed this year that I may need a few minutes (or days) to adjust. It’s about more than the temperature and the wardrobe, of course. How to characterise it, that change from summer to autumn? Canvases have been painted and photographs have been taken, songs have been sung and concertos have been composed, poems have been penned and novels have been written and drawn about it, I realise.
If summer in Montréal can be likened to a music festival (perhaps because summer in this city is a series of festivals), what about autumn? For me, it’s a piano or a cello or a trumpet … in a park or a music hall, on a street corner or a turntable. In short, right about now, it feels like time to settle in.
a few words ... from Montréal 