Autumn has always been my favorite month. Maybe it's the Boston blood in my veins that just won't go away, no matter how much I try to be a western country girl. But this year I thought the fall was so awfully, achingly beautiful. I can't put it in words, but it almost made my chest hurt to look at the mountains, or to look across the city. This first little bit of winter has been nice, too. Not quite as beautiful as autumn, just because it's not my favorite season. But it is lovely, whispering hints of snow and evergreen, and promises of sledding and hazel hot chocolate at Juice 'n Java. Yet this week, just when I'd gotten over Autumn's departure, he (or she? You choose) snuck back in, fickle season that he is. I was ready, after the days of rain and snow and wet, to let him leave and prepare for his debut in the southern hemisphere. Yet here he is, back with us, in the middle of November, a week before Thanksgiving.
With his "return," students have gone back to lounging on the grass, studying outside on benches, and wearing sunglasses and shirtsleeves. I've gotten used to basking in the feel of the sun on my bare arms (which reminds me of a funny joke...) and the (dying) grass under my bare feet. Of course, I'm delighting in Autumn's return, but I cannot ignore reality. I know that as much as I love every minute of his presence, he is going to leave, and soon. It's cruel of him to come back just when I was learning to get by with him gone.
Ah, but Autumn is beautiful.
No comments:
Post a Comment