I love fall so much. I live for fall. Autumn is my season, through and through. I love the smell of the gentle rot. I thrill to the chill that creeps up my neck. Wearing scarves brings me daily joy. Seeing the bones of a garden is as interesting as seeing it in full bloom. Traipsing through the natural mulch of leaves upon leaves upon generations of leaves is poetic and thought-provoking.
The caw of the crows gets sharper as the leaves get sparser, calling “Now, now, now, get outside now before winter comes.”
The moist air is welcome, the gray skies, comforting. It’s a slow drop to the knees, a battening down, a gentle sigh that the work is done and it’s time to pull up the covers of winter.
I can see every single, subtle decline out my windows. And it’s gorgeous. And I want to weep every day. I am making up for living 22 years at 100mph, I can safely say that.
I don’t want to turn back time. I just want to pay attention to every little bit of it.