This time of year always throws me, not only do I fight the notion of what’s coming (the white stuff) but also am grateful for the break. I will be. Maybe.
Picking flowers dipped in frost, V’s of geese squawking orders above, the sun taking its dear old time climbing over our hill, slipping into ice-cold garden gloves and planting garlic cloves full of hope. It’s all wrapped together into this fall crunchy leaves time thing. And the colors. Amazing colors are popping into the picture. Crazy reds and yellows and oranges that dazzle. I bring selected maple leaves in and arrange them on tables and countertops.
I have a love-hate relationship with fall. I do. The crispy air is great, it really is. I love the amount of energy I have and how the humidity has left town. But the light, it’s different and telling and it always gets me. Especially late afternoon, how the day up and leaves the area in one big sun-drop. BAM!
“We’re out of time people!” I hear the group that tosses the sun up there in the morning, yelling as they zip up their coats and cart away the orb.
I’m standing in the driveway, wanting a few more hours of light. Just a couple of rays to pull a few more weeds, wrestle that Morning Glory vine down now that it’s kaput and maybe I should unscrew the hose from the house. Again.
You’d think I would get used to this, right? That I’d be all amped and ready with cords of cut firewood stacked and eager to warm the house. But I’m so not there, so not ready for this. Give me some days (in a row please) of summer sun, you know the one, windows open warm breezes and all that noise of life around me. C’mon, who is in charge here? I head in to where it’s warm.