More than associating Autumn with a time of harvest, of
abundance, I feel a longing for what I am losing: the expansive days, the
warmth and bounty of the dog days of summer.
It doesn’t help that when I wear fall colors, I look sallow,
as if I were jaundiced. Rarely have I bought outfits in golds, oranges or
rusts. I’m more of an aqua, pink and royal-blue kinda gal.
Of course, I delight in seeing the red tinged leaves appearing
on branch tips. I enjoy inhaling the nip in the morning air and feeling its
freshness on my cheeks. My soul is moved – and yet it somehow isn’t. Do you
know what I mean? It’s like I’m feeling what Autumn lovers feel. I have empathy
and appreciation and I love, but it is not my
love. It’s not what lies in my deepest heart.
Moreover, I mourn the loss of days that last almost forever,
the light and heat of the sun, the verdant foliage, the dazzling colors of
geraniums, petunias, begonias, lobelia, dahlias, and the sweetly fragrant
roses. I love that I don’t feel cold for days at a time – even in the evenings,
that I can wear shorts and flip-flops and forget about carting sweaters around.
My body thrives in the matching ambient temperatures.
But fall it is, and I wonder: did I appreciate this past
summer fully enough? Did I seize and absorb every opportunity to relish, to
frolic, to dance it its deliciousness?
Then I ask myself, how many more summers will I be
privileged enough to witness?
No comments:
Post a Comment