Snake days (The deception of warm weather)

'If summer wasn't really a summer', she thinks, 'then perhaps you're not strong enough for winter.' It's still sunny now, at the start of autumn, because it didn't get properly warm until late this year. Initially, there were deceptive days when it got very warm and everyone dug their summer clothes out of their wardrobes – far too early, of course. Then, just a few days later, those clothes were scattered around again, because jackets were needed once more.

Her long experience tells her that the start of spring can be deceptive and dangerous. How many people have caught a cold, had a runny nose or cough just before summer because of it? She smiles and thinks of her own early summer days, using that term to refer to her youth. It must have been much warmer back then. Everything was warmer; her heart hadn't grown cold yet, so it was never as cold as it would be later on. Back then, a cool wind would often blow, causing people to catch flu more than once.

She looks up and watches the passers-by, the children in their airy summer dresses, and the young people in their skimpy shorts and shirts. It was hot, really hot. But she could already sense the approaching autumn around her feet – a draught, barely noticeable. It was like a cold little snake, tentatively gliding its forked tongue over sensitive skin.

The warm air betrays the deceptive nature of the weather, with its autumnal scent of rotting leaves and approaching cold. She isn't afraid yet, as she's still quite comfortable. However, she finds herself thinking of things she had almost forgotten about for weeks. Shoes with thick soles, jumpers, jackets and blankets. 'Yes, blankets', she thinks. 'There are never enough blankets in the world.'

She's still enjoying herself here, on the bench in the park, surrounded by colourful flowerbeds that seem to have been placed there just for her. The colours and scents overwhelm her senses, which are used to far more dreary stimuli. Grey and dirty beige make up the thousands of walls she could walk past blindfolded, as they are as familiar to her as the pillows in a sheltered child's cot. She brushes past them and feels both safe and utterly desolate. She no longer looks up at the windows, as she used to when she first started wandering the streets from morning until evening, and sometimes into the night. Those lights all looked warm and friendly. Perhaps hers had looked like that, too. Maybe someone had looked up at her light when she still had one.

'Well', she thinks, smiling slightly at her own thoughts, 'everyone gets their turn to look from the other side at some point.' The little cold snake, which is still gently winding itself around her ankles, is making its presence felt a little more. Indeed, some mothers are calling their children over to help them put on the long-sleeved clothes they have brought with them. The sunlight takes on a faint coppery hue – a sense of evening rises with this colour of light. It's earlier than yesterday, and tomorrow it will be earlier than today.

Soon, the little cold snake will grow into an icy python. She knows that, and before the fear of it can grip her, she stands up. Her ritual is to tidy her trolley by arranging the items and covering them with plastic bags so that nothing slips out of place. When she realises that the metal mesh of the old shopping trolley is cool to the touch, she has to force herself not to think about the frost that will greet her in the morning. Not next week, not next month, but very soon nonetheless.

She is so tired now. She had just enough strength to make it through to summer. But summer didn't come. It eluded her and sped through her life this year. Now, all that remains is winter, the cold and the light with its shroud-like hue. Soon, the cold snake will reach her heart, slithering around her sensitive feet.

At last, she pushes the trolley slowly out of the park and to the spot where she will lie down for the night. It won't be too cold tonight, and tomorrow is another day. Sometimes, in autumn, when the summer has been cool, there are still plenty of lovely days.

© 'Snake days (The deception of warm weather)' is a short story about homelessness, written by Ilona E. Schwartz (translated by Izabel Comati), 07/2026. The image shows homeless people on the street, CC0 (Public Domain Licence).