I spend most of my time looking forward to October. October is a certain quality of yellow light through yellow leaves at sunset when we go for a walk. October is fall break, halloween shops and watching horror movies in the dark, the room glowing with orange, purple, and green lights. October is orange and black construction paper, pulling glue off the palms of my hands, getting compliments from neighbors on our bright porch, wrapping myself up in creepy fabric and covering myself in fake blood in the basement, swinging bare bulbs, the creepy sounds CD on repeat, fog machine billowing acrid juices across our front lawn. October is bittersweet. October is the creeping black tentacles of bad memories, the pets lost, the call that my dad was sick, hospital memories. October is the way pumpkin burns my dry cracked knuckles, the smell of autumn vanilla lotion on my fingers, the air conditioner on during the day and the bed covered in blankets at night, the shiny wet pavement stuck with colorful leaves, a warm rain, a bitingly cold rain, hot tea, the smell of hair burning on the furnace, hundreds of kids on halloween night who come up to me and say “trick or treat”.
For bohemea’s word with photos #2