seen from Yemen
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Romania
seen from China
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins.
O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!
—from Attachments by Rainbow Rowell
Merry October!
From: Beth Fremont To: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder Sent: Thurs, 10/14/1999 11:09 AM Subject: October, at last!
Beth to Jennifer: Callooh! Callay!
Jennifer to Beth: At last? October is half over. And what’s in October anyway?
Beth to Jennifer: Not “what’s in.” What is. October. My favorite month. Which, by the way, has only half begun.
Some find it melancholy. “October,” Bono sings, “and the trees are stripped bare…”
Not I. There’s a chill in the air that lifts my heart and makes my hair stand on end. Every moment feels meant for me. In October, I’m the star of my own movie—I hear the soundtrack in my head (right now, it’s “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes”)—and I have faith in my own rising action.
I was born in February, but I come alive in October.
Jennifer to Beth: You’re a nut.
Beth to Jennifer: A hazelnut. A filbert.
October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins.
O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!
Jennifer to Beth: I do love tiny candy bars.
Beth to Jennifer: Merry October!
Jennifer to Beth: All right, Merry October! Why not?
—Attachments by Rainbow Rowell
He looked at me, straight into me, and I felt like I was in love with the sun.
—Beth Fremont, from Attachments
I found myself thinking that this is how I would want to dance at my own wedding. (Minus all the Dixie Chicks and Alan Jackson songs.) The kind of dancing that's more like touching to music. That's more like closing your eyes and trying to think how you would tell someone that you loved him if you didn't have words or sex.
—Beth Fremont, from Attachments
Rainbow Rowell wrote Attachments for me, I can just tell you. Like I can relate to things in this SO HARD. 🥺
Beth: You think we'll still be friends when we're dead?
Jennifer: I will if you will.
