October skies were often gray, occasionally accompanied by hefty breezes. Sometimes those skies threatened rain, but were still pleasing as each season brought its own mood that suited me perfectly. The autumn breezes caused dead leaves to rustle about, scurrying across the asphalt street and piling up along curbs of sidewalks. I watched them fall from trees, twirling in the autumn wind like multi-colored helicopter blades. October was the month of Halloween; it was a time of ghostly stories and caramel apples. Indoor fireplaces were sweet promises of indoor togetherness when the cooler months came.

The events we carry around in the suitcase of our memories are often those that stand out like bookmarks and increase sharply with age. I had an open and closed mind: it was wide open when it came to ghosts, flying saucers, or some other unexplained anomaly. It was also closed tighter than a tomb if anyone tried to offer explanations as to why these things didn’t exist. The end result: I flat out refused to accept anything that explained the unexplainable. Moving from the heat of September, to the cooler days of October wasn’t so bad; I often needed a sweatshirt, or a jacket, but if the sun was out I managed just a T-shirt. I loved staring at the reflections of telephone pole or trees in puddles. Tapping the surface with the toe of my shoe I watched them ripple and dance before my eyes.

Those were the simple joys I miss so much: the smell of woodsmoke in the air and the distant echo of birds who stayed behind to endure the winter. But on a brisk October day, when my time was free, I hung out with friends, and we spent as much time outdoors as possible. When the rain came we migrated to the warmth of our rooms for indoor games, gum, and gab. Perhaps a record spun on my record player, or maybe it was the ambient muffled noise of daytime television seeping in from under my door. I had fun indoors, but nothing could beat the breath of October, the cool breezes, and the fresh scents of a coming winter.