The Turtleneck Was a Choice I Made

It was sixty-two degrees. I did not know this when I got dressed. I knew it was October, I knew it had been cold earlier in the week, and I made what I believed was a reasonable call: turtleneck, fitted jeans, the boots, and the medium-weight coat waiting by the door. I stepped outside onto the steps at seven-forty and it felt like a different city than the one I went to sleep in. Sunny. Windless. The neighbor's potted plant looking frankly optimistic.

I stood there for a moment with the coat over my arm, doing that mental calculation where you decide whether the warmth will 'probably turn' before lunch. I gave it about four seconds before admitting it would not. The coat went back on the hook. The turtleneck stayed because what was I going to do, change.

the moment of realizing the turtleneck was the wrong call

I took the photo on the steps because the image of me holding the coat like a returned library book felt too specific to let go. October has been doing this lately, cold on Monday, sixty-two and indifferent by Friday, and I have not caught up.

Came back in, made coffee, stood at the window.

back inside, reconsidering my choices in the sun

Gerald is doing something new with the light at this hour, the vine's casting a different shadow than it was in September, longer and more definitive, which I noticed and then immediately set aside to think about the turtleneck situation. I have two prints leaning against the kitchen wall, a mug that's slightly too hot for how warm the room is, and a full October ahead of me. I'll figure out the layering. Probably by November.