Wednesday, October 10, 2012
I read somewhere recently that using the exclamation point was like laughing at your own joke, and as such, should be avoided by those who wish to call themselves writers. Admittedly, that bit of advice stuck like a needle into my brain as soon as I read it; it takes up only a little space, but pokes me every now and again. I've neglected the rule in today's post title, with good reason: it's finally, finally foggy. The air is crisp and thick with the smell of frosts to come; jackets are wrapping themselves tighter around torsos and boots are making their way onto the street.
Finally, finally, I am home.
Summer makes me feel like a visitor. The Sun does its best to brighten my attitude towards those middle months, and those warm evenings by the ocean have come close to doing the trick. But nothing can compare to the welcome I get from the stillness Autumn brings. My soul lights up, like those turning leaves, and then tumbles softly just the same; through open air, to rest and hibernation and winter.
Summer pushes us out of our homes; to the beach, to patios and lounges; to road trips and day trips and shopping. But Fall returns us; to hearths and homemade pie, armchairs and books; to blankets and quiet thinking, making do and gearing down. Summer means giant quenching gulps and fast light eating. Fall means careful sips and slow roasted, oven baked, melting buttered everythings.
Fall is the quiet friend who sits with you, understands you have been busy, listens to every story in detail with joy, then asks you to stay for tea, for awhile, for a rest.