Sandrine Granville
Special to CSMS Magazine
There comes a point in the long, languid stretch of August when the summer heat ceases to be a companion and becomes a tyrant. The sun, once a welcome friend beckoning us to beaches and barbecues, now feels oppressive—a heavy, brilliant weight that presses down from a bleached-white sky. The air itself is thick and syrupy, humming with the drone of air conditioners working overtime. It is in this sweltering crucible that a specific, almost painful longing takes root: the deep, soul-level craving for Autumn.
This isn’t a wish for the year’s end, but a yearning for a specific sensory shift. We dream of the moment the air changes. Not just a drop in temperature, but a new quality to the wind—a crisp, clean sharpness that carries the scent of woodsmoke and decaying leaves. We ache for the relief of pulling on a favourite wool sweater for the first time, the comforting weight of it a stark contrast to the floaty, insubstantial fabrics of summer.
Our minds wander to the symphony of Autumn: the satisfying crunch-crunch underfoot on a carpet of crimson and gold leaves, the distant rustle of a startled squirrel, the profound, enveloping silence of a foggy morning. We trade the blinding, relentless glare of summer for the golden, honeyed light of October, a light that seems to make the world glow from within.
This longing is more than just a desire for cooler weather; it is a hunger for atmosphere, for coziness, for introspection. Summer is for outward expression—for noise and crowds and constant activity. But Autumn? Autumn invites us inward. It is the season of steaming mugs of apple cider, of pages turned under a soft blanket, of deep, philosophical conversations held on porches as dusk settles early.
It is the promise of a reset. A new school year, a new rhythm, a chance to begin again with a renewed spirit. The intolerable heat of late summer is the final test of our endurance, and the dream of Autumn is our reward—a beautiful, bittersweet, and deeply anticipated relief for the overheated soul. It is the comforting knowledge that change is not just coming, but is already on the wind, if only we could feel it.
Note: Sandrine Granville is a writer and essayist. She wrote this piece especially for CSMS Magazine.
