This is what my memories of my hometown look like.
In my mind, it's always late summer. Early fall. Harvest. Everything shines gold and warm, brightly coloured and faded around the edges. It's pleasant, but a chill around the corner suggests you bring a sweater; everything smells like apple pie.
By the time I make it home again, it'll be too late for my favourite season. The gold will be gone, replaced with beige and grey and the chill will bite through your scarves and mittens.
2 days ago