I come alive in the fall.
All summer long, I lay dormant, waiting for the subtle shift of the evening light and the accompanying brisk air. I endure summer, treating it as an inconvenience. I trudge through the heat, sweat in the sun, and generally try to keep my grumbling to a minimum. My productivity and creativity wane in these months as I wait for the days to melt away.
But fall? Ah, that’s the stuff.
Walking yesterday with my canine companion through the horse trails near my home, I felt it. A slight breeze danced across my path, playing with my hair and filling my lungs with the promise of cooler days and crunchy leaves.
I stopped and noticed the sun hanging lower in the sky; the golden hour of the day was positively bewitching and, dare I say, magical.
Call it Autumn. Call it fall.
I don’t care what you call it.
As long as it comes.
And she has.