burnt sienna

Photo Credit: ygnaz

The day after Halloween is always a sad one. Walking down the street in a hungover haze, with last night's eyeliner smeared under my eyes, face paint caked under my fingernails, and a mound of responsibilities to get back to, the world seems less bright. The pumpkins have lost their grins, beginning to sag, some broken and chipped, others on their sides now having served their purpose.

And those beautiful autumn leaves that the sun shone through yesterday, that are responsible for color names like "sienna" and "currant," are just "brown" today. They crunch without satisfaction, sending dust into the air, but mostly lay lifeless, no indication of once being green or having experienced golden years.

Today, stores will pull out their ornaments and lights, prop up plush turkeys, and begin advertising those Black Friday. Soon, instead of candy corn frappes, it's pumpkin spice lattes and peppermint mochas. For me, it's some Thanksgiving blend coffee that tastes no different than a seasonless cup. And it shouldn't taste different, because nothing has empirically changed. Except it has.

The sun sets at 4:30, cans of sweet potatoes laden in sugar line the produce section, and an impending winter can't be ignored anymore. Flip flops are thrown to the back of the closet, pea coats flung on the bed to be dry cleaned, and windows shut at night.