I know because it smells like October. It smells like burning, smoking cinnamon spice and everything nice.
I know because my jeans are still cold from my hour-and-a-half long walk along the water. (Along the ocean? Who calls it that?). I know because the sun retires at 6pm giving the twinklings of incandescent light reign over the night. I know because there are strange, orange blob-like flaming veg-heads winking at me with buck-toothed grins from the steps of the front porch. I know because I feel magic moving through the air, blasting through time across shiny tile floors of my long-stretched elementary school hallway. It glides like a phantom past painted faces and colored wigs of hair and princess tiaras glittering with the ugly reflective tape my dad stuck to my back to keep me from being run over in the dark while greedily collecting miniature helpings of pure, confectionery joy.
I know because despite these times of dying – withering and fading, bleeding with fiery colors and falling like feathers and finally crackling underfoot, I am still breathing this crisp, cold air and it feels so damn good to be alive.
No matter what.