m e l i s s i m a.

September.»

He crept in so sweetly yesterday; almost unnoticed. And already, the first of his days has gone spent. 

I think of him, and all my mind sees is yellow. …Smiling mornings of softness and the sheer feeling of comfort, through sunset. …School supplies, and You’ve Got Mail.

A fleece North Face, fitted jeans, and new sneakers. A pony tail and head band, perhaps. Saturday mornings so crisp, you can feel goosebumps graze the skin as you drive down the highway. Sunglasses on, windows cracked just enough to breathe in the tingling sharpness, and new lipstick…a hint of tease seals your smile. That spiced coffee you’ll sip on, but not finish, warming the cup holder. And the company of red, orange, mustard leaves twirling down from the sky, filling in for the absence in the seat next to you. The music’s on…

September’s perfect thirty, its scent, its smile…the curvature of its S. I thirst for it all, every year. I love that he delivers everyone’s white slate. …Brings the one who’s supposed to stay longer. His flower, the Forget-Me-Not… (An oh so clever one…)

But above all, he makes me want to breathe it all in and Love it all out. Because after Summer, comes Autumn. …And lately, I crave Him more than ever.

Calm Me Down, Kissless.»

It always gets to me; the transitional period between seasons that always makes dimmer my smile, and leaves me with that uncomfortable feeling of wearing slightly oversized socks. My body can feel it… that it’s almost time to go back.

The sun becomes less playful, the ocean waves more rough, and the warmth of my summer love story begins to feel chillier in its approach. I find myself in a daze more times that I’d prefer, over-thinking the simplest of things and feeling uneasy for a while. (All of such, usually entirely unnecessarily, of course. But impossible to ignore.)

And all I want is for you to calm me down…kissless.

“Don’t you love New York City in the fall? Makes me wanna buy school supplies.” I look forward to this line every year, and to that Cranberries song playing in the background… Imagining Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks walking to work as utter strangers, completely in Love with one another. But school supply shopping is a chore where I live, and Cosmopolitan Love, much too cumbersome to bother with. In Europe, such is all nonsense that gets in the way of a mid-day caffè. School supply shopping was special when I was growing up… The smell of fresh notebook paper, the smoothness of a ballpoint pen; all foreign pleasures now. Things change. And then I miss them…I miss them a lot.

Just the thought of disappearing into the clouds of an August afternoon…of going back…kissless.

The colors of New England leaves, the crisp air at football games, carving pumpkins…lighting scented candles in the backyard on Sunday school nights, cuddling under plaid patterned blankets to stay warm. N o s t a l g i a. 

I’m going to start counting my Septembers. 

Pure.»

I hope that my combining of these four short films into a single post doesn’t devalue any of them in any way, because they’re each absolutely beautiful. They were shot by Leonardi Dalessandri, an Italian cinematographer, I’m assuming, for pure fun.

The colors that come through in each shot are so vivid and so full of life, like the places and faces captured themselves. Each scene, a taste of Italy; the pure place that I call home. 

{Visit his website by clicking here.}

‘An Autumn’s Tale’ | Shot in Parma, Emilia Romagna (Italy)

‘A Day Like Today’ | Shot in Parma, Emilia Romagna (Italy)

‘Suddenly, Last Summer’ | Shot in Moliterno, Basilicata (Italy)

‘Ghost Town’ | Shot in Val d’Agri, Lucania (Italy)

Come Feel the Peace.»

This isn’t a sad story.

I woke up on Sunday morning in a bed that wasn’t mine, within four walls that embrace the nucleus of a harmonious trio, separate from my own; of a mother and her two children. It was quiet; not lonesome…just quiet.

I got dressed and stepped outside; mother’s birthday, it was. My sister and I, the one whose heart I adopted as an extension of my own…we took to the sunshine soon after milk and cookies. I love it when the air is crisp, and only warm in the light. I love it when it’s morning in Rome.

Our first stop, the pastry shop, smelled delicious; little creations lining the trays of the windows, colourful and precious. Each a bite of Heaven, to be savored in a moment of pure pleasure. A moment, that is…here briefly, and gone just the same…instantly.

Serenity here. A walk, and the sounds of Bossa Nova on my mind. 

Our last stop: the flower stand outside sister’s doorstep. I always pretend I’m Mrs. Dalloway when I buy flowers. I stared at the colours, inhaled the scents, and took in the life of each petal, of each stem, of each green leaf. How special, the life of a flower; a birth so complex, so long in the making…only to fade away after a few days. There were hundreds of different shades in Rosa’s vases, and soon, they’d all be gone…replaced by new ones. Unsettling at first, this thought…this reality.

But then I thought…the life of a flower isn’t any different than the course certain stories take; Love stories, that is…those chapters we experience to attempt to cure the Human condition of Loneliness, amidst the scribbles of this crazy Life. We use caution, we use tender care, to build up to an idyllic euphoric greatness. We experience these short bursts of Beauty, of Passion, of that which is Pure while it feeds…until it’s time for it to fade…to take on the role of a nutritive layer that we use for what comes thereafter. Only then is it time for a new flower to grow from the wilted parts of the one before it. As it blends with the soil and meshes with the new, a second life is created.  

The cycle of life, of the flowers of Rosa…they’re little Love stories in themselves. Each one is short-lived, genuinely beautiful and delicate in its form, but special…important for its time on this Earth. It’s a concept difficult to settle with; fulfillment followed by death. But there’s a rebirth that comes from that which was before…And after Summer, comes Autumn. Different, yes, but sunkissed just the same, from the little pieces that shall always remain.

This isn’t a sad story…this is what it means to finally find peace. 

“And after Summer comes Autumn…” -500 Days of Summer