I dropped my kids off at their bus in the usual flurry of rush and reminders and good-bye hugs, then I took myself for a walk.
The mountaintops had been snow-dusted with icing sugar during the storm last night. The candy sprinkles came courtesy of the changing leaves, and were just visible under the the new white coats. It was still just warm enough to expose my calves and forearms to the pumpkin-spiced elements, but my fingers insisted on hiding inside knit gloves because the chill in the air tried to bite them.
I breathed in the scents of long-lasting dew and occasionally decaying fruit from trees no one had harvested. It makes me a little sad to see fruit rotting on the ground under a tree. Sad, neglected fruit. Didn't anyone want to take you home?
This time of year, its beauty and melancholy, makes me think of spiced apple cider and pumpkin pie; sitting beside a crackling fire under a blanket while through the open window blows a breeze to nip at exposed skin. It's soccer season (for girls) and trick or treating.
This is my favorite time of year. After the furnace of summer has begun to cool and before the gray of winter sets in. It's perfect.
I only wish it could last longer.