With the Windows Down

It's fall. The temperature in DFW did not rise into the 90s today. Fall is here, even though I'm still wearing flip flops and tank tops. I really miss fall in New York. Pushing through the rotating door onto Fifth Avenue after work there's a crispness in the air, the leaves of the Central Park trees across the street are golden golden and auburn, twirling lazily in the air then landing softly on the ground. People are wrapped in comfy sweaters walking by me drinking a hot beverage, maybe eating Nuts for Nuts. It signals that the holidays will be here soon but doesn't hurry them along. But I'm in Texas now, walking down the Target aisle looking at pumpkins and, as I turn my buggy down the next aisle, there are Christmas ornaments. Meanwhile, I'm still wearing my flip flops and tank tops.

Today as I was driving home from school, I rolled the windows down. The sun was setting, casting a pinkish-orange glow over the highway. I turned up the music. I could feel my hair forming in knots as the wind whipped it around. It felt good. It was a rare moment when I was fine being where I was; a moment that I would not trade to be back in New York. It was a moment of freedom, something that I haven't felt much since being here. Who ever thought I'd say this, but God bless Texas fall evenings driving down the highway with your windows down.