I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. -- Joanne Harris
I've spent today writing love songs to autumn in my head.
I love this season. And I love everything that it embraces, everything it does well, like spice and fallen leaves and that zing in the air.
I love how it's all about pumpkins: in spicy pies, in those massive chocolate-studded cookies I grew up with, in a custardy bread pudding with apples and sweet cream.
It's pots of mums crowding the back deck, and the smell of woodsmoke. Apple cider simmering on the stove.
It's the lists that start cropping up as we close the distance to Thanksgiving: dishes to make, the old favorites, the new dares. Can we outdo last year? Can we try?
It's finding all of last year's cold-weather garb. Pulling out the boots, the scarves and hats, legwarmers, fingerless mitts...
It's the trips to the nearby apple farm, stocking up on kettle corn and enough fresh-picked beauties to satisfy our apple pie hunger.
It's the way the weather does everything best this time of year. It has the take-your-breath-away windy days, sending leaves scudding down the sidewalk. And the wraparound gloomy, rainy days, perfect for working through a stash of mystery novels. And then the brilliant blue skies and glorious warm sun... nothing showcases a blue sky like autumn.
Because most of all, it's about the trees, holding their breath till they go scarlet, then bursting to pieces at the end.
Gosh I love it. I always want to wrap my arms around these weeks, and dig my heels in, and keep them from escaping.
The trick is savoring each day, like brown sugar candy dissolving on the tongue.