Around me the lush beauty of autumn flourishes. The evening drive home from work finds the
sun beginning to set behind me, and the tips of the trees ahead catch the rays. As the days pass, leaves shed their summer
green to reveal shyly, first, a pale yellow, then boldly, deeper reds, and shades
of brown that add the richness of age as they curl into themselves, finishing their
summer jobs of home to wildlife, shade and nourishment.
Often, deer graze an early evening meal at roadside. Further along, families of wild turkeys strut,
safe from the hunting season within the confines of Buckhorn Island State Park. Large nests, home to birds and squirrels
begin to show themselves through thinning forests, previously hidden by the
lush density of summer.
At home, the crockpot simmers a roast I put in before
work. Opening the door, the aroma welcomes…come in,
relax…we have all evening. October,
November and beyond is the time for comfort food. Casseroles, baking bread, and slow roasted
meals fill the menu. All day weekend
preparations of Coq au Vin or a batch of homemade bagels fill the house with a
good feeling. They feed the body,
heart and soul with slow, lazy purpose.
Unpacked from the attic are coveted and favorite pieces of
the wardrobe. Turtlenecks (promised to
co-workers to not make an appearance until after October 1st),
sweaters, sweatshirts, flannel nightgowns and fluffy bathrobes fill dressers and
closets. Hand sewn quilts, flannel sheets and the “warm
like butter” throw from the Pottery Barn aren’t long to follow for beds,
couches and over the back of chairs.
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| My men, hard at work! |
When daylight savings time hits and the day loses the sun by
5 pm, it’s open season on coming home from work and immediately changing into
pajamas for the evening. After all, it’s
dark early – a time to celebrate the long evening ahead, curled up with your
favorite book … or lover. Weekends offer
crisp and shortened days, a heightened sense of urgency to get the work and
play done in daylight hours. Leaves are raked, wood is split and stacked, hikes
provide an opportunity to revel in the beauty of the season and an annual trip
to the cider mill and pumpkin vendor send us home with brown bags full of
goodies.
At home, the fireplace beckons. Crinkled paper, a layer of kindling,
graduated wood pieces, small to large (cut on a crisp day earlier in the season
and stacked, a thing of beauty in itself,) wait for the strike of a match. The paper catches, spreads the flame that works
its way to a full burn. The flames
dance, flickers that reach the corners of the room. It’s an old house – the
chimney rises through the center of the upstairs and gives off heat enough to
make the two rooms there quite comfortable on the chilliest of days. On a weekend, when the fire has been going
since noon, it warrants opening the upstairs windows just a crack, a cool whisper
seeps in to offset the blazing heat inside.
This is my autumn.
This is my joy.
“Delicious
autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly
about the earth seeking the successive autumns.”
- George Eliot
- George Eliot
