For fall has come.
That time of year we covet.
When all is new but dying.
Hope renews in our hearts.
Is it the cricket who played all summer or the mouse who stored that comes out ahead?
It is neither and both.
It is the start over. The second chance.
The time we have before the winter comes and closes us all away.
When cold sets in and bones stiffen.
When we no longer move but drudge along, huddled together for warmth. The sun no longer singing to us as it once had. Eyes dark in dread. Whispers for the season to brighten again.
Fall protects us.
Gives us cool breezes we’ve been waiting for.
Drinks with spices that make us smile. Warm our hearts and minds.
Textures that please the tongue. Apples crisp and corn ripe.
Juice pressed.
Wines delight.
Dough shaped into circles touchdown into vats of oil.
Cinnamon and sugar tossed. Excited fingers licked clean.
Corn stalks tall. Mazes to hide children in delight. Screams and chills at night.
Fairs all done.
Schools begun.
Bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils anyone?
Binders, paper, and pens, oh my!
Fingers itching to touch new supplies.
Clearance sales of notebooks you’ll have for years.
Ruled paper, wide or college?
Hoarding office and stationary needs you did not need.
Colors and possibilities you can’t ignore.
School children piling on buses.
College students abandoning bedrooms. Mothers thinking of all the ways that space could be used. A million possibilities.
They strip the sheets and clean them. Making it for the next time.
The buy a new blanket or pillow shame in case of company.
They do not remodel it. They long for their child to return before they finish morning that they left. Running fingers along the precious things left behind. Not good, or too good to go with them.
Mothers dream of a sewing space, a retreat, an exercise bike might fit in too. No sexist. They have the garage or basement for dirty hobbies of woodworking. But one can never have too many special spaces, can they?
Leaves start to fall.
Is it sad? Or does it speak of something new happening? Is it exciting? Is raking the way to thank the universe for its gift? Sweat in your eyes. Last weeds pulled and garden put to bed. Or first snow wished upon to cover the mess never cleared.
Mums the last to go.
Did you know they are perennials?
The garden centers treat them as annuals and you fall for it every year.
Pumpkins!
Carved into faces. Scary or tame. Lighted with candle or torch.
Smashed.
Orange, yellow, dark greens, browns, all hues from bright to dark, soft to hard.
Flavors. Colors. Smells. Old. New. Damp. Dry.
A renewal.
A nesting.
A preparation for long months to come.
A beginning and an end.
A full circle.
When more gets done than any other time of year.
I prepare for it even when I don’t think I do.
I look forward to it even when immersed in the present or the past.
I relish it.
I never feel I can live up to its expectations.
I can never not try.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year.