(no subject)

It's officially fall and/or winter now. I find it strange how a ten degree change in the temperate can cause such a large mood shift in me. But it's slightly chilly (well, for California, which is about as much chill as wimpy me can take), the skies were overcast all day with nary a beam of sunshine in sight, and I have a fuzzy sweater and boots on. It feels like the right weather to listen to Del Amitri.

But everything outside feels just a tad bit sharper and more unwelcoming, and interiors are looking brighter and cheerier hour by hour. Even the flourescent-lit cubicles looked downright cozy compared to the wind and rain outside. I looked outside this morning and decided it was a day for curling up in the couch with rats and a McKillip book (currently in the middle of Song for the Basilisk right now. Sadly, after this, I will only have a few more McKillip's to go through before I've read them all. I am parcelling them out slowly for days like this.)

It feels like everything is slowing down, taking measure of the past few months, contemplating more. It's time for hot soup and family get togethers, holidays and tradition.

I still miss summer. I don't operate well without much sunshine. I mourn the heat, the bright, intense colors, loud blaring music, sunglasses, the smell of grass.

Speaking of rainy day books, probably any book is a good rainy day book. Rainy days just seem to inspire books and reading. But I would particularly pick up old favorites like Robin McKinley or favorite books from childhood. That, or big fat epics to be buried in.

( Book memery )