It’s been chilly and dark all day today, and I put a long sleeved denim shirt over my tee when I walked the dogs just now. I counted three maples with scarlet tipped leaves, and noticed all the hostas were completely bloomed out and turning brown around the edges.
If feels like fall and I’m not sure I’m ready.
Ordinarily, I love fall, and would consider it my favorite season. Mostly, it’s the fallish trappings that appeal to me…school supplies, sweaters, tangy apple cider, bonfires, new tv shows, mutlicolored foliage, crisp cool breezes…things that inspires you to nestle into your favorite chair with a thick novel, a soft blanket, and a dog or two for company.
But somehow, I’m reluctant to see it come this year. Perhaps it’s because last winter was so brutal, and I’m just not anxious for a repeat performance.
Maybe it’s because I’m not all that excited about resuming rehearsal schedules and church activities.
Mostly, I think it’s because this summer has been so traumatic. While you’d think that would be all the more reason to want it to end, I think I’m still hoping that some miracle will occur, time will reverse itself, and I’ll get the summer to do over without the sadness and loss that came with it. It’s as if with the arrival of fall, the terrible things that happened this summer will be irrevocably inmeshed in the season and therefore impossible to ignore.
But if there’s one thing I know after almost 54 years on the planet, it’s that time marches on and waits for no woman. It’s only August 22, but within the blink of an eye it will be Halloween (in fact, the candy and costumes are already on display in Target). Then Christmas will be here in a heartbeat, and another Long Winter will begin in earnest.
Oh, I’m not sure I’m ready.