Hoods and Pumpkin Spice

I stepped off the bus into a gust of cold air and rain. Ducked my head down in the absence of an umbrella and made my way to the Metro - slower than the rain fell. Closed my eyes the whole ride home and almost made it to the front porch before the skies opened entirely. Cold and drenched, I fumbled for my keys under the porch light. Crawled into bed and fell asleep to the cold rain, the covers tucked under my chin. 

The morning light fell blue grey and the puddles held ringlets. Dressed myself in clothes too warm for last week and grabbed my rain jacket from the closet. Mismatched attire but I wanted the hood, the casual comfort. The feel of wrapped up, held together, just held. 

I ran all summer. On adrenaline. On coffee. On musts and shoulds. Trying to stay ahead of the change. To beat change. To make it to higher ground before it washed ashore and stole the sand, wiped clean my footprints. Our footprints. I ran and didn't look back. 

I'm here now. 

Car lights illuminate the street before I've figured out what to have for dinner and I pull on a hooded sweatshirt to ward off chills even though the air conditioner doesn't hum. I take a sip of pumpkin spice and remind myself: I believe in the change of seasons 

and the seasons of change.