The way September smells

The way it feels. There's something so particular about the air and the light. September, for me at least, has an intention. It's the month that captures all the liminal textures of life and spreads them evenly across those amazing thirty one days. It's my favourite month, quite obviously. I can feel it in my bones now, the nostalgia. When I walk around, especially in the early evening, I imagine the months ahead- even though they are essentially the end of a year, they always feel like a beginning to me. It's like I always have butterflies in my stomach for no apparent reason. Are people who love autumn obsessed with death, rather than birth or re-birth?
I like the feeling of the slightly cold air on the tip of my nose in the evenings. I enjoy September music. It's the time when the dust is brushed off the Interpol and Counting Crows records and everything becomes less silly again.
A new friend and I had a discussion about this the other day. There's nothing about either the Passion Pit or Phoenix album that will last beyond Labour Day. Even though my summer was spent in a library, rather than outdoors as usual, I'm ready for the cold air again. I'm ready to leave London right about now.