I’m sure there must be some mysterious connection between the arrival of September and cooler weather… it must be! And this year, in our valley, the arrival of September was acknowledged by temperature falling from the triple digits to a sudden chilly 71 degrees… in a blink of an eye. It amazes me—this hasty change, and makes me think that September really marks the arrival of fall…
I hear it: Autumn’s mellow voice speaks softly, yet so clear. Autumn creeps with concealed force; it sneaks into your garden without you even noticing it… it spreads and swirls ripening to an overall gold as it heals a world that has grown dusty and dry under the austerity of August.
Before we know it, every petal from the roses, every flower will be just but memoirs from the past dancing in the folds of our memory… I don’t know what it is, but the arrival of fall, for lovely as it may be, it always puts a touch of sadness in me… as if something very dear was drawing to a close. It’s a death, really. The rampant energy of spring and summer has passed… like a man walking towards his inevitable end.
I’m I already feeling those end of summer blues. I’m such of a melancholy soul, and yet, I’m volatile too. Which means I may be feeling blue today, but tomorrow I'll be dancing in wind-blown leaves as happy as can be... so watch me laugh, jumping across puddles of leaves. For now, I think I will go through my scarves and think of apples and cider, and pumpkins and nuts on the ground and crimsoned leaves and the smell of them burning... that should help.