Autumn…the breeze feels as if a giant hand has taken the blanket of summer heat and snapped it open, letting it lazily fall, like a sheet as it drifts down to cover a bed. Soon the leaves shall crackle under foot and the air will deepen with the aroma of majestic colors - passion, glory, and fire.
Indulging my taste buds with slow sips of a warm, spicy latte, my eyes drift shut and delightful daydreams begin to float around me. The wind blows gently past my ear, tinkling with faint giggles from happy children.
Tree-shrouded lanes beckon to lovers, their silent mystery offering refuge from society’s impediments. The chilly air sweeps down the lane, and nips at azalea-pink cheeks, slipping unnoticed past the simmering flames held in each glance.
I open my eyes to gaze at the blast of cinnamon leaves waving at me from above; if I look closely enough I can glimpse the sparkle of a fairy's wing. Sighing, I sink back into the soft, wood-smoke scented jacket of the boy behind me. He chuckles to himself, the deep sound vibrating through his broad chest and straight to my heart, causing it to skip a beat with complete happiness. He wraps his arms tighter about me and leans down to place a tentative kiss on my wind-nipped cheek. I look up into his sea-green eyes, still pleasantly surprised at the warmth that courses through my middle at a mere glance.
I watch as the world around me continues to move, swearing to myself that people are stepping more lightly and smling more brightly. And why wouldn't they? Just around the corner await days of smoldering campfires and the smell of woodsmoke, the soothing chorus of crickets, and cloudless nights with full moons. The time has come to slip on the soft, bright sweaters that linger lovingly with the scent of last October; scarves of every design and color wait eagerly to be taken out of their winter box and into the cool breeze, the frayed ends happily blowing in the harvest wind. Soon dark rivers of hot chocolate will brew on the hearth and gingerbread men will wait to be born. Glowing orange fruits smile menacingly and sticky faces wear ghoulish glamour on day thirty and one of October.
Under Friday Night Lights the crushing sounds of defeat and victory will soon be heard booming beneath midnight skies, the beating of drums and the low mourning of horns making the night air sing with glory.
So quickly the minutes move towards the anxiously anticipated holidays that I almost forget to breathe in the short-lived glory that is Fall. Take a moment to enjoy.
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