The summer holiday blues have officially departed. Now that the yellow leaves have covered the walkways, I have something to look forward to: winter. But before I get there, I have to make it through this wonderful time called autumn — a season so overly romanticised that I can’t quite understand its appeal. Honestly, I could do without this cosy embrace that everyone seems desperate to hold onto for as long as they can. Halloween? Pumpkin spice lattes? Mushroom picking? Thanks, but I’ll pass.
Thankfully, Berlin makes it easier by ensuring season transitions happen so abruptly. This city means business. As summer gets taken off life support, autumn usually makes a timid entrance before the cold settles in. This year, though, everyone remarked how blessed we’ve been with such a long autumn. With its unusually dazzling sun, October gave the impression that summer was rising on the third day. But thermometers don't mess around, and neither does a weakened immune system. I am sick, yet again.
I have been getting vaccinated for years, but my body keeps providing shelter to the unpopular variants that didn't make the cut. Speak of leaving no one behind. As the flu virus is having a blast in my upper respiratory system, my raspy voice is making quite the impression. Is it finally time to start that podcast? But let’s be honest—the real reason I’m sick is my unwillingness to dress appropriately for the weather. A little chill can’t be all that bad, now, can it? If anything, it should help my body burn a few extra calories to stay warm. I need something to counteract the slabs of lemon cake, after all. Now is definitely not the time to skimp on vitamin C.
No amount of citrusy treats can seem to lift my spirits. A little cough and a toasty fever are not to blame this time. I can't quite put my finger on it — partly because I'm busy blowing my nose all the time. I am mourning the summer, not as a season, but for what it brought with it: the unnecessarily long days, the two unbearably hot weeks in August, the endless night conversations, the empty wine bottles, and those holidays in September. Did I make it all up? I swear I can still feel the salty water in my hair — and before you ask, yes, I’ve taken many showers since. I can still feel the melted ice cream drip down my hand faster than I could eat it. I can still see that face everywhere — pale skin and dark hair, generic enough to be anyone.
“Bring me the ugliest fridge magnet you can find.” How red was that flag? And just like that magnet, I became clingy, and soon enough things got ugly. The red flag turned white, the tree leaves yellow, and those bright summer days darker.
And it slipped away so fast I couldn't even capture a mental image of it. In its wake, it left an insatiable tiny black hole. The verses I wrote still echo in my head, but for how much longer? Soon enough there will be other birthdays, flashier cards and wittier rhymes. Things aren't official until they're in writing. So here we go. It is taking me an eternity to finish those sentences. The golden yellow leaves that I marvelled at in the beginning are a decomposing sludge by now. They stick to my shoes on my daily walks, and no matter how hard I wipe my soles, I inevitably bring traces of them back home. But I make sure they don’t go past my entryway. My pristine parquet must remain so.
My flu is running its course. As my body clears the infection, so does my mind. Soon the temperature will plummet. The nap that was October will awaken to the frenzy of Christmas markets. Come January, the city will drift into hibernation. The naked trees will pretend to be alive, and I’ll pretend it was all in my head. And I'll finally have something to look forward to again: another summer filled with false promises.