Carpe Autumn

There is nothing as magic as an early morning stroll under a bright New England sky in October. The crisp, moist air hangs like golden wisps of smoke, whispering apples and pumpkins. Emily Dickinson found the slant of light on Winter afternoons to be oppressive, but the hue and angle of the light in Autumn is a tonic for the soul.

You can feel the promise of frost in the air. One night very soon, the tomato vines and marigold leaves will turn black. We will pull them up and toss them on the compost pile.
We will not mourn, though we will miss the fresh tomatoes and golden color of the marigold blossoms.

We who love the seasons welcome Winter. We do not carp about weather. We celebrate the changes in the skies. These changes give us a sense of urgency - adding punctuation to our life sentences. As we see the lifeline getting shorter, we eschew comfort and tedium. We embrace the challenge of slip and skid against our aging bones. Let the winds and seas rage. Let the snow pile high. Let the power lines fail and the toilets freeze. We'll survive.

Or, maybe not.

In our hearts, we know that the temperature of the earth is constant at a depth of six feet. And, lord knows, there will be plenty of time for that.