Over the past few days, the morning air has been so crisp, I can actually see autumn creeping ever closer as summer slinks away. I find myself surfing the internet for vintage quilts and down comforters as I dig out my old sweaters from their warm weather hiding places. I know it's still a bit premature, but I can't help the sudden infusion of child-like excitement making my heart beat faster.
How wonderfully appropriate is it that someone who spends as much time as I do unintentionally sprawled out on the floor would be in love with the season known as “fall”?
But I ask you, what’s not to love?
There’s the lightly sour but delightfully sweet fragrance of fresh apple cider, apple butter, and hot apple crisp. The first harvest of pumpkins carved into lanterns and baked into pies, cookies and breads…their discarded seeds dried and roasted to perfection.
And how could I forget the pumpkin spice latte, with just a dash of cinnamon and whipped cream, on a cold autumn morn?
There’s nothing better than days just cool enough to need a sweater and evenings destined for a glass of wine and the soft glow of a fire. I would gladly sacrifice the entire summer for just a few more months of autumn weather.
It’s the time of the year when spiders, ghosts and witches crawl out of the woodwork and find themselves decorating our windows, doors, and walkways.
The mere sight of a bite sized Snickers opens a door into a world of nostalgia, transporting me back to my childhood.
If I close my eyes I can almost smell the musty scent of an old quilt wrapped around me as I crawled onto the couch to watch, It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. I can hear the crackle as the foil dome grows on a batch of Jiffy Pop on the stove. And I can almost taste the first bite of caramel melted over a bowl of that same freshly popped corn.
I wish I could buy a first class ticket into the past to spend just one more
day as the innocent eight year old girl folding squares of tape to hang
cardboard decorations on the windows. Stealing a piece of candy from the
bowl meant for trick-or-treaters. Trying on the costume her mother made
from scratch…the same costume that would go on to win a prize at the annual
Halloween parade at the local fire station.
The first day of fall isn’t just another number on the calendar…it’s a warm place inside that never really goes away with the first frost of winter. It’s always waiting patiently for time to roll around again. Like that musty old quilt folded carefully on a shelf and forgotten until the first cool day.
Until the next time…I’ll be saving a spot for the first pumpkin of the season.