I hate hot weather. I don’t just hate it, I loathe it with a burning intensity that sees me frantically googling ‘places that stay cold all year round’ and contemplating moving there. I become a different person in the summer. It’s when my mental health is at its worst, and I spend practically all day moaning to whoever will listen. Honestly, it’s a goddamn miracle that I even have friends come the end of August.
But. When the mornings once again are crisp and cold, I feel my soul stir somewhere deep inside of me, tentatively reaching to sniff and make sure the hot, balmy summer days are truly disappearing in the rearview mirror. When I can once again pile blankets onto my bed without feeling like I’m suffocating, cradle a cup of steaming coffee to my face in the morning without feeling like my skin is about to fall off, and bundle myself in ALL the layers. I’m talking scarves, boots, socks, coats, jumpers - the lot.
A blogger cliche? Probably. Do I care? Not at all!
I’ve always loved the colder months and loathed the warmer months. I’ve always had my (regular) breakdowns whilst the sun shone down and bathed everyone in warm light. I’ve always felt most alive marching across the moors in Devon, cheeks frozen by the wind whipping against them and lungs filled with the fresh, brisk air as the hard ground crunches beneath our feet. I find the most joy in stepping outside of the house in the morning and feeling that first sharp intake of breath as the cold air hits my warm body. When the coffee shops release their autumnal menus and suddenly it’s socially acceptable once more to stay inside of an evening because who would want to be outside in the wind and rain anyway? Nothing feels cosier than the sound of the wind and rain outside as you curl up in bed, soft lighting illuminating your face, book in hand and mug of hot drink close by.
The winter months in Devon also always meant the departure of the tourists who set up camp for the summer and the reclaiming of our beaches and moorland and roads.
You haven’t known joy until you’ve been down the beach on a dark, stormy day with the waves crashing against the cliffs and the wind buffeting around you and creeping through any holes in your clothing until every inch of you is shivering. Then it’s always home to warm radiators, plates piled high with crumpets oozing butter and jam, cups filled to the brim with hot tea, bodies piled onto the sofa with blankets and pillows to all watch a film together. That is, if we can actually decide on a film the whole family wants and it doesn’t end in someone marching to their room and declaring they hate the whole family.
The colder months have a special kind of magic to them, a magic that takes me right back to my childhood. We spent hours when I was a kid walking in all weathers, spending time as a family even when the rain beat down on our coats that were never quite waterproof enough. A good Saturday was one spent walking over the moors or through the woods, inevitably getting completely and utterly lost, and eventually piling into a local pub to sit round the fire, laughing and eating hot chips coated in too much salt.
Everything about the autumn feels like too much to me, but it’s the best kind of too much. Too many layers, too many hot drinks, too many carbs, too many leaves on the ground.
I crunch through Hyde Park over the fallen leaves and I remember all the times that I’ve crunched through these leaves before, like a casting on stitch of memories in my mind that gets stronger and stronger every year. I travel back home, nose tinged pink with the cold, and look forward to going down to the woods that’s gorgeous in the summer but special in the autumn. I watch the leaves change colour on the trees outside of our office and I feel that frisson of excitement that reminds me no matter how bad life gets, it’s ever changing and autumn will always come back eventually, basic bitch PSL in hand.
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A 20-something American living in Ireland. Obsessed with coffee, rewatching The Office until the end of time, trying new beauty products, and hoarding stationery.
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