Dear October,

Month of my birthday, I used to curse at you under my breath back when each day of you meant five decades of prayers at school. Month of first terms ending, month of ferris wheels and secret codes and languorous nights, I raised my beer bottles in honor of you. You never disappoint. This year you have handed me my first autumn, reacquainted my wrists with sleeves, gotten me running after streetcars, showered me with hail while shopping for pie, cooled my tea every night, and made me smile with icy lips at all these trees on fire. You have made me see color again, beyond the brownness of my skin. You have me constantly looking up.