I love the way the rosy tones of sunrise glisten off the fallen leaves, shades of orange and gold, colors that remind me of toast wrapped in a thin glaze of jam. Contrasted of course with the thin frost on the lambs ears and grass. It is all so delightful. Almost like a promise of Christmas glitter and bonbons to come.
I’ve been waiting for the cool weather to arrive. Temperatures in the 70s just don’t feel like autumn to me. Of course I know it is all relative, and each place has its own season, but this extended Indian Summer has been one of the hardest thing to adapt to since moving south, still a struggle after more than a decade.
I always want to cry out the we need repose. We need the dying of the light, the browning of the leaves, the starkness of winter. It is darkness, sleep, and rest that feeds all life, that gives us the strength to burst forth anew again and again.
It is the morning after Thanksgiving. I am having a doppio and a slice of pumpkin pie as I gaze out at the rising sun. I am wrapped in my heavy fleece robe because I forgot to turn on the heat last night and the house was a chilly 58 degrees when I awoke. I like a cool house, but that is a little chill, even for me.
I like cold weather. I do not like being cold. But I like being hot even less. I like a cool house because I like knitting and wearing sweaters. I love being cozily wrapped up as I absorb the stark grays and browns around me. But I do not want to be so chill that I need gloves while typing on my laptop.
Not that I am complaining, because I am not. I am rejoicing. And, with apologies to Ezra Pound, I think it is a good thing. I am almost as excited as if the spring flowers were beginning to burst forth. But then, without this quiet period, there would be no glorious spring to come.
Winter is acummin in…….
And I am filled with joy.