Fall is definitely a mood, and a rather moody one at that. It’s all drama, all change, all thrills and literal chills. It’s a cozy candle-lit dinner with a few close friends with some vaguely sentimental music playing in the background, some wistful remembrance of a time gone by, or a time not yet here, and the head is fuzzy and the night is hazy and you’re not sure whether it’s warm or chilly, so you lean into the flickering light from the candles and lose yourself a little.
It’s this musical mashup by Milt Jackson, with its undertones of melancholy, its sweetness of melody. It’s a curling tendril of smoke from the tip of a cigarette or the end of a candle’s life. It’s a resinous, amber streak of cologne. It’s a furry vest and a cup of hot tea held by fingerless gloves. It’s comfort food and roasted vegetables and bowls of steaming soup. It’s firelight and smoldering embers.
It’s a Wednesday night at home on the couch, listening to music in the dim light, and calling bedtime a bit early because so much of the week has already gone, and so much of it hasn’t.
