I saw a joke on social media complaining that in the South fall is just like summer, but with pumpkins. Personally, I can’t complain. I love summer above all things, and I like pumpkins a lot too. Yes, there is something mildly unsettling about feeling that hint of a cool breeze in the mornings, then afternoons giving in to the same old Texas heat, but it’s ok. I’m fine with fall being nothing but a whisper. Because, frankly, whenever I’ve lived in places where I could experience it, I’ve never liked it. For all its explosion of colors, the anticipation of winter made me depressed. A real fall is a bit like a Sunday – my least favorite day of the week. It’s gloomy, somber even at its most colorful.
So yes, as I was painting an image of autumn in Bucharest, which I found on Instagram, I was fully grateful not to be enjoying falling rust-colored leaves and a true change of seasons here. Because sometimes I feel that fall can make me sad even at a distance. Or maybe it’s the full moon in Aries messing with me. All I know is that today I felt sad and tired. But after painting I felt so much better.
