You say October and all I see is little kids in costumes, running around maple trees, set to find candies anywhere and everywhere. I see chilly days and warm bonfires, pumpkins outside houses while a vivid crimson moon blooms in the sky. October like traces of burnt-out fire, like crunching orange leaves under my feet. October like poetry, my ancestors’ ghosts stirring, witch magic, and chilly whispering winds. October like frozen hearts, hot chocolate and warm hands. October like skeletons and cobwebs, forgotten love and thick sweaters.
You say November and all I see is the world suddenly resembling a single colour palette. I see dreary white-blue-grey skies, muted drizzles and chilly weather. November like pine trees and foggy lenses, like listening to the traffic, and the cold breeze. November like snow tires, Mass at cemeteries and gratitude filling the air, casseroles and mashed potatoes. November like people lining up at malls, getting the last from sales, drinking cheap vodka out of plastic bottles.
You say December and all I see is children making snow angels and huddling around bonfires, feasting on graham crackers and melted chocolate. I see collars up to the jaws, gloved hands shoved in pockets to avoid the chill or clutching hot cocoa topped with white clouds, warming their palms. December like Christmas lights strung up everywhere, singing carols and baking seven different desserts. December like snuggling under warm blankets, building pillow forts and wearing cozy cardigans. December and grandma’s mitts, loneliness along with festivals, drinking mulled wine and falling asleep on the couch alone. December and countdowns, promises of new beginnings as the moon waxes with you, street lamps budding like hope in the dark streets.
By -
Richa Jain
III Year
B.A Program
[Edited by Tushita Choudhary
Curated by Naina Sarma and Shreya Jathavedan}
Comments