I’m kinda looking forward to fall this year.
Who has taken over this blog, and what have they done with Rebecca?!
I don’t completely get it either, but I’m going to ride with this strange-but-nice feeling: not dreading the change of season, welcoming the cool breeze at night that suggests I tug the comforter a bit closer to my ears, anticipating the fall bounty, not whining (too much) as summer heads south.
In particular, I’m enjoying the oblique angle of the light, skipping over treetops to light the fields, the rocks, the flowers, the river.
I’m thinking a lot about apples. Cider, sauce, adorable little hand pies.
Oh, and chili and stews and mahogany-colored baked beans. Loaves of freshly baked bread.
Birthdays, holidays, and celebrations.
A wide, dark sky, the milky way painted in a prominent arc.
Fall usually seems to me a closing door, the end of things, and shutting in until spring.
For some reason, though, I feel slightly hopeful about this fall. I feel the new, clean air like a bright edge of promise, a hard, clear dividing line between what was behind and what is ahead. It makes sense that the Jewish New Year is nearly here. A clean start, a shrugging off the lazy days of summer, a time to move inside, gather thoughts, gather friends, make feasts.
I don’t know how long this feeling will last. You can be sure of reading my moans and groans about winter come November. I’m not that utterly changed.
Ask me tomorrow, and I may deny everything.