As the velvety richness of October creeps in, I am once again, enamored by the romance of the season. Enchanted by the golden light and memorized by trees ablaze with amber leaves, the air spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and the damp of a withering and exhausted garden. To me, this is the beauty of Halloween. Haunted, misty forests, lingering roses slumped and blackened by an early frost and shadows of bare branches playing tricks in the night as they dance in the moonlight. For me, this is the frightful fascination of the season – Elements collected and gathered from a once vibrant garden, bent and shrivened to an unrecognizable state and tales of vintage ghost stories with spine shivering morals. Building from beauty something that is captivating and yet, not quite right. This is how one can play chic against eerie… This is my version of Halloween.

I think I must have been an odd child. I believe that my Halloween costumes are proof alone of this. I was seemingly always coming up with crazy ideas and falling in love with fanciful tales and characters that were well beyond my childlike comprehension. As an adult I watch some of the Halloween movies I was enamored with as a kid and I have no idea what my parents were thinking. But hey, it was the 90’s and early 00’s so things were different and maybe they just knew that all of it was going over my head. I simply went to Hollywood Video and picked out a VHS tape and watched it over and over again, becoming obsessed, hoping to emulate my favorite actors and characters as much as possible and Halloween was definitely proof of this. When I wanted to be a Vampire for halloween I watched Dracula Dead and Loving It – It is not a great film, or even a good one, really, but I loved it (and still do) for some unknown reason and was somehow allowed to watch it which is truly the more confounding part of this tale. And I simply had to be one of the floating, bed post rocking (you will only get this if you know the film) sexy female vampires. So I studied and memorized and plotted and designed. And off to goodwill I went to get an ivory neglige or some kind of wedding dress for the costume party and my makeup was done in a moody vampire fashion and I was adamant that my artist father paint realistic puncture marks on my neck so I could really be the bride of Darcula. I was at the most, 10. 

I have long been in love with autumn. A most elegant season, all dressed up in chocolaty jewel tones and perfumed with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves and wood burning fires… It is no wonder that, once again, October has completely captivated my attention. With its effortless beauty and the forever shifting scenes of golden light and transforming foliage, I find myself melting into fall’s misty mornings and wind whistling nights. Tempted into candlelit, novel reading hibernation by steaming cups of tea and bowls of homemade soups, falling in love with longer shadows and the song of the rustling leaves that lull us into this cozy state. A period of rest, a time to recharge. It is a season of cozy charm and of chic richness. It is a time of year that simply feels like coming home.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a witch. Wished that one day, my magical powers would reveal themselves and I could step into an unknown yet perfectly familiar place. That I would eventually live in a little cottage in the woods with a leather bound spell book, a roaring fire and a silky black cat, casting broomstick silhouettes over full moons and lighting candles by gently blowing on the wick – It is a whisper of a wish always in my heart. A magical dream that is forever etched onto my soul, no matter how impossible or impractical. I simply have always known that I was meant for magic.

Autumn is, without a doubt, my favorite season and yet, there is a twinge of sadness in my heart as we bid adieu to summer. The memories collected this season have been beyond wonderful. My heart is still warm from days spent under the European sun and my soul forever hums with the song of cicadas and al fresco nights. There is an effortless, unique beauty to it all. Memories of summertime rest differently on my heart, scorched in my mind through sunflared squints and flashes of moments that feel more like someone else's life than my own. And in turn, my farewell to the season feels more palpable than others. Summer days slipping into autumn nights are undeniable, regretful in a way. As though you did not live enough. Do enough. Almost desperate. A feeling like it may never happen again. In contrast, the transition from autumn to winter and spring to summer feels more gentle. Quiet. The change comes on slowly, like waking up on a Sunday morning. But the end of summer… It feels dramatic.

As the September light washes over the lingering days of summer, I am reminded just how perfect each season can be. The final flush of the garden with its determined blooms and the concluding burst of produce all write the closing sentences to the chapter entitled ‘summer’, a season facing its final bow of the year. These quiet days before the arrival of autumn are full of splendor and reflection. A collection of moments to be transformed into memories, flavors begging to be preserved and safely tucked away, patiently waiting to be cherished once life has settled into the depth of our upcoming season of hibernation. September is a beautiful finale… A golden tasseled curtain call for summer.

In the early days of September, the essence of autumn begins to take hold. As we drift into this next season, I am keeningly aware that my palate has savored its final drops of summer while daydreams of crackling fires, mugs of hot cider and the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot begin to take shape. Summertime was full of sunkissed afternoons and salty sea breeze evenings, a beautiful collection of moments preserved in my heart for seasons to come. But soon, the aperol spritz will be replaced by le chocolat chaud, tan lines will fade under chunky knit sweaters and cheeks will be rosied by crisp morning air rather than flushed by the heat of the sun. Simply put, it is my most favorite time of the year.

The heat of August is inescapable. It lingers and swelters and leaves you in a sundrenched haze. As temperatures continue to climb over the sprawl of concrete that I, at the moment, call home, the desire for a sense of escape is profound. Slow, intentional moments dripping with nostalgia become the main ingredient of my existence this time of year. Behind sunscreen smudged sunglasses I find myself lost in daydreams of a childhood spent on slip and slides, running through front yard sprinklers and my parent’s wild idea of a crab boil for my sister’s 5th birthday party. These memories come in flashes, spinning into sunflared souvenirs of long lost carefree summers. Bright colors of plastic pools, grass stained cut off shorts and chalk drawn bike courses on the burning asphalt of the cul-de-sac – These are the echoes of my very early childhood. One that feels so impossibly far away, and yet still manages to wash me in a sense of timeless joy and adventure. I wish that I could bottle up that feeling of an innocent, wide eyed summer. The feelings of long lost days full of wonder and possibility. The days of skinned knees and the call of ice cream trucks. A time when land lines kept us grounded in reality and stacks of four by six drugstore photos cluttered junk drawers and filled countless shoe boxes. I long for the simplicity of it all. The Kodak tone of my childhood. 

I see my life as a series of images. Tableaus and moments designed out of a deep desire to live a full and beautiful life. It is, in a way, a compulsion. A need to spread aesthetics and intention into every corner of my little world. A curiosity for beauty and connection and experiences – A place where moments of the perfectly imperfect can thrive and swirl about in my mind.