On anticipating fall
The only thing I can hope is that with the smell of falling leaves comes a similarly windswept busyness, that things will mellow out, that we’ll face the lowering of the temperature with a lowering of energy, torporing our way into the typical droll autumn attitudes.
Because the weeks seem to be going to fast. Sierra’s shooting up like a milkweed unchecked, a full inch and a half in just a month and a half. New experiences. Hot days. Shorts, grill-outs, a series of backyards and porches and patios. Summer lights up, blinds us – forces us to blink – and when we’re standing with our eyes finally open again we notice that it’s already September. It’s already time to say goodbye. As if we never even knew it.
I love each beautiful day, but with the cacophony of grunts and football banter flowing in each weekend, I can’t help but long for the crispness of October. My birth month. The first month I learned to love, with the anticipation of Halloween and the great candy and the changing of the colors and the cooling of the weather, the winds and grayness serving as a cold shower to our over-excited lives.
Leaves. Wind. Cold rain. Overcast. Hoodies. Jeans. The puffy vest everyone gets tired of seeing after a few weeks. Hot coffee during a still dark morning.
I’m sorry. I should appreciate these days while they’re still here.
But life is moving a little faster than we expected, and I can only hope that this fall helps cool things down. Because our engines can’t run on overdrive for too long without running out of gas and sputtering to a halt. We can’t miss a thing. Sometimes it feels like we’re missing it all.
I’m stuck between a season I love and a season I need.