It’s raining again. Not the pleasant thundershower of the summer, where the air is filled with static electricity and the smell of ozone, but the damp drizzle of fall, when everything just smells soggy. It’s the smell of grey, and it washes away the smells of cinnamon and pumpkin that were just there days before, making me feel like a kid again, waiting for cookies or pie to come hot out of the oven. It washes out the colours of the changing leaves, making everything duller and dimmer somehow. It leeches my joy, like some drizzly vampire, and leaves me feeling a pale reflection of my former self.
It makes me melancholy, and I just can’t seem to shake it.
Hibernation’s where it’s at.