She's here. She's here for certain. Save for a day or two where her flirty sister Summer will tease us, we know for a fact that Fall has arrived here in New England.
Lovely, golden Fall has swooped in around us, and she has begun her matronly duty in wrapping us in thick, warm clothing. She will set our sun earlier and earlier and we will barely notice it until we look up from our desk chairs in our cubicles and realize that it is awfully dark for 5pm. She will convince us that we need to look at her handiwork in the dying throes in the leaves.
We will hear her ache. And we will applaud it.
We will drive around to look at it. We will take pictures of the shades she paints and thank her wholeheartedly for the art she helps us create.
Fall will make things smell tremendous. The lavender and vanilla of summer, the sunscreen and bug spray, the sunshine beating down on dry pine needles deep in the wood will fade. There will be cinnamon and brown sugar. She will have us smell the woodsmoke from our neighbors houses, and the leaves raked up off the ground revealing moist dying grass and loam. We will grow comfortable in her grip, her hug, her embrace. She will swaddle us. We will enjoy tea by the fire. We will take the dogs swimming less often.
Then, like her sister Summer before her, she take her leave gently. She will abandon us with Winter, who could care less if we are comfortable, could care less if we see beautiful colors, will wash everything white and grey and make us long painfully for the days we had just a few short months ago. Winter will spit cold and wet in our faces, and laugh with wicked winds around us when we try and walk from door to car, from car to door.
We will all be Persephone, and will beg for someone to come and save us.
Fall and Summer will dance merrily off into the background and we will see them way far back in the distance, when we look at our pictures, when we clean our bathrooms and find that almost empty bottle of sunscreen and open it, just to breathe it in.
We'll ask them to come back, and they promise they will with glances aside over tanned freckled shoulder and fleece wrapped back.
But it will be a long time coming before they do.
I told you the other day that a lot of stuff goes through my mind when I'm out walking the dogs. Stuff like that crap right there above. I used to fancy myself somewhat of a writer. That's the closest to a creative piece I've come in about five or six years.
I enjoy looking into house windows as Gonzo and I march through the neighborhood on our 1.2 mile loop. I am happy to see so many families either sitting down to dinner, or talking on couches. Children getting along watching cartoons. I can smell what they are cooking for dinner and that makes me smile.
Cars drive by me, with windows down still, even though it is getting awfully chilly by 7pm. I know who the smokers are, because even when they aren't smoking when they pass, there is some sort of air-freshener in each of their cars. Some tell-tale, fake fragrance that disturbs the air around me. Depending on whether or not they drive by me in the direction I'm walking, or in the opposite direction, I sometimes have to follow their sickly scent for quite a ways.
Sometimes they are blasting music. Thank you for sharing. I have decided that I am dead set against any song on this earth where a man is singing about what he wants to do to you, baby girl. Any references of sex combined with baby girl make me instantly gag and I'm incredibly offended.
I must be the only one because there are so many of these songs out there anymore.
Gonzo is a delight on the leash. There is only one house with dogs who go incredibly nuts when we walk past, so we try and go as quickly and quietly as possible. He maintains his cool.
I turn the corner and walk past the Catholic parsonage. There is a huge Mary statue bathed in bright light, and a small Jesus on a cross statue with not as much light. I can tell this particular Padre digs Mary more than Jesus. In fact, I think he digs Mary more than his own parishoners because the porch light is never on at the church hall, and the other night I watched a man nearly kill himself stepping off the stairs. I caught his arm, Gonzo barked. I was afraid he may bite the man but my voice was assuring and not alarming when I told the man that I had him and it was alright.
Perhaps Mary can share some of her light with the porch steps sometime.
A little ways further and we are home. If I am lucky, I smell what Doug is cooking me for dinner. And sauteed onions blend beautifully with the thick cold air and woodsmoke of my neighbors.
So a new month, and a new banner, new colors. I decided to put my quotes up in the head graphic area, and think that today's works nicely.
My Girl MB (works with me and My Girl C) wanted me to mention her here in the journal. Hi MB. You have sweet boobies.
Said I'd mention you. And now you're squeeling and laughing your head off, I'm sure.
Alright -- I have wanted to get this entry up for DAYS now, but between Fantasy Football, Guster on iTunes, homework ... all three of the other members of my household have been hogging the PC. That's okay. I did dishes instead of blogging. 'bout time, yeah.