For the Love of Autumn

Ahhh, she’s here. Can you feel it?

Although there is an official day on the calendar that tells us autumn is here, it isn’t really here until she glides effortlessly through the door, fashionably late for the party.

Autumn thumbs her nose at timeliness. Her beautiful leaves shift from emerald greens to brilliant reds and golds when she sees fit. It’s her party, and she decorates it when she’s ready.

While Autumn’s party is a formal affair—all dazzling rubies and sophisticated gold—I’ll be having my own party during my favorite season.

Autumn makes me want to wear fuzzy socks in my comfiest chair, take up my fountain pen, and write encouraging notes to friends.

Autumn is tea with ginger and chamomile and lemon, so hot that it’s necessary to wrap your hands around the mug first, taking deep breaths to feel the steam dampen your face before you dare to take the first achingly slow sip.

Autumn is thick books with handmade bookmarks of pressed flowers and ribbons. In them, mysterious strangers show up to quaint English villages to keep secrets and fall in love.

Autumn is my favorite red cardigan, wrapped around me like a warm hug.

Autumn is fresh bread from the oven; potato pancakes stacked next to homemade applesauce that’s blushed pink and kissed with cinnamon.

Autumn is a little girl wearing a vest and impossibly tiny suede boots, sliding down the slide toward her Daddy in the park, pigtails flying.

Autumn is that urge you feel to don your favorite hoodie and light up the fire pit in the backyard. It’s neighborhood block parties and burgers sizzling on the grill.

Autumn is putting the garden to bed after it’s exhausted itself of producing zucchini and tomatoes.

The natural slowdown of Autumn can feel wistful at times, bringing regrets to the surface. The earlier sunsets and longer nights toll the bell of time marching forward. But that is probably why Autumn is my season. Autumn is fleeting and a little bit temperamental, not to be ignored and definitely not to be taken for granted. Autumn demands our attention now, because she knows better than anyone that winter is waiting on the doorstep, ready to start its own party.

Autumn is here, and she has my attention. My cardigan is ready, my fountain pen is poised, and the tea kettle is on.

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