some time later

The gingko leaves are still green but it’s feeling like fall already, and any day now I suspect the air will begin to smell of woodsmoke. I feel a little like a hot cider and a gentle book and a chair by the ocean. I feel like feeling safe.

There’s a little beanbag frog who lives on my desk, and I’ve sat him over the blinking light on my phone so that I don’t have to see there’s a voicemail. I don’t feel like answering questions. I’d rather just let the temperature drop around me, and watch the days grow shorter, and enjoy the change.

This morning a young woman walking in front of me in the park turned around when she heard my heels clicking quickly against the path. Everyone is running this morning, she said. I feel like I’m missing something. She was carrying a gallon of milk.

And I wanted to make an offer: trade me today. I will have a slow day listening to leaves and drinking milk, and you can go see what you’re missing.

I love the fall for how vivid it feels, for how peaceful it is and for how there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I think most of us would stop it if we could and it would be a terrible loss.


Adrienne said...

There are moments of fall that feel like spring in the desert - full of potential and miracle and those glorious moments of opportunity and promise - and I am ever so grateful when I am able to head out to the places where land and color and crisp nights and warm days combine.

Like yesterday. Where the very last of the mountain blueberries had ripened in their carpets of red against the sinking green meadows.

Sorry I didn't call, I had to go hike. I'm sure you understand.

tortaluga said...

"Sorry I didn't call, I had to go hike."

i love that.