I miss autumn. I keep thinking about the colors, the brisk air, and the feel of the leaves under my boots. I miss when sweaters are worn out of necessity (and not because your coworkers insist on keeping the air conditioner at 73). Shadows cast on floors are just not the same without those bits of rust and aged gold sprinkled across the path. I want a hot apple cider and cinnamon burning away on the stove, I want the smell of chestnuts and the voice of my mother insisting I try them. I'm not fond of them, I just like what they represent: family sprawled across the coach, plucking them off the pan and peeling away at the chestnuts even though they are a little burnt and much too hot to eat. I don't have a picture of chestnuts, just leaves and flowers and creatures that live in deeper lands. 

Mecca is light and purity. There is such a strong remembrance of Allah and equality, the love for other human beings regardless of their ethnicity or race. Supplications recited in circles, the cool ceramic felt beneath your bare feet, the young flying above shoulders and the old whizzing past your ears. You can't even make sense of what you are saying in that moment, but in your heart of hearts you know that you've never felt anything more real. You push away the past and intentions are made for brand new days.