It happened overnight. I went to bed in August and woke up in September, and the difference was a full ten degrees.
The first cold morning on the 1 train this September felt like a group secret. Everyone on the platform at 116th had that same slightly caught-off-guard look. Bare arms, folded arms. One woman in a linen dress clearly regretting her life choices.
I had thrown on a cardigan at the last second, and I have never felt more like a psychic.
The train came in warm and steamy, the way subway cars do when the world outside cools down first. We all piled in gratefully. A man near the door was cradling his coffee like it was a small child.
There's something about the first cold morning on the 1 train that resets me every year. Summer in NYC is loud and sticky and demanding. It wants you outside, always. September just asks you to put on a jacket and pay attention.
I rode down to Chambers watching the light change through the windows. Fall light in New York is different — lower, more golden, less show-off. It hits the buildings sideways.
By Times Square the car was packed and nobody was complaining about the heat for once. Small mercies.
My Ba used to say the weather in Ahmedabad only had two settings, hot and slightly less hot. She would not know what to do with a morning like this, where the air actually has an opinion.
I got out at Chambers and bought a chai from the cart guy who knows me now. He handed it over and said, "Sweater weather, finally." Finally.
Hold onto your cardigans. September in New York moves fast.
Love,