By EmilyRose Nulty
As summer ebbs and tourists trickle away, local life reawakens.
As October unfolds, I reflect back on September, a month of transition and familiar rhythms.
The summer bustle has faded, leaving behind the quieter, comforting cadence of local life. Autumn brushed the leaves with gold and painted the early mornings in soft, crisp light. As the days shorten and the air grows cooler, I carry those seasonal moments forward into October’s unveiling, remembering how life has shifted.
The streets of my town settle in October; the summer rush has faded.
As I walk down the uneven path, the cafes are no longer filled with tourists. Locals return to their usual tables. The loud mosaic of conversations, the music murmuring in the background, and the tapping of plates fills the room. It’s a different atmosphere, one that feels like home. The barista greets locals by name, the coffee machine in full whack, the tip jar filled with a few cheeky fivers.
While there is a calming presence around the town, beneath the surface, life speeds up. Children return to school, the smell of shoe polish lingering, nudging at their parents for sweet money. Tractors fire up at dawn, ready to harvest the fields before the soft morning light creeps in.
The school grounds are alive with laughter and games, shouting across the playground, footballs flying about. The swings sway gently in the wind. Seasonal shops slowly appear, and villages awaken once again. Roads are blanketed by golden leaves. Some flowers start to wilt, while others blossom.
Students rush for buses, backpack zips half-done. Dogs guard the gates sternly, tails wagging. Voices echo across the grounds, conversing last minute. The early morning air is clear and crisp; your nose is cold, red to the touch, but that deep morning breath clears your lungs.
Locals paint the streets, an elderly man watching from his bench, the paper in hand. Vents carry the smell of freshly made bread alongside the familiar oil scent from the rattly delivery truck, an oddly satisfying pair. Extra layers are needed. Seagulls hover over the fishermen. Nets are being undone, waves softly slapping against the current, muting the cries of the gulls. Steel-toed work boots strain the aged wooden pier, hoping to return with bulging nets filled with whitefish. The misty salt air brushes your face. The boat, weathered from the salty sea, engine still firing like she’s brand new, cuts seamlessly through the current.
Berries are in season, different shades of pink and red staining clothes. Markets hum with bodies, finely selecting the perfect fruit. People stop to chatter. Fairs and festivals begin, the bright colors contrasting with the autumnal palette. Open fires heat homes. The kitchen light illuminates the pitch-black garden as preserving and baking are in full flow. Silhouettes dance in the garden, and evenings grow short.
As autumn settles into every crevice, routines reset. The towns are no longer filled with tourists, only locals. A new season unveils itself, one that feels communal. Life continues steadily, moving at its own pace.
October, a month of transition, radiates a subtle autumnal glow.