On the day of the Autumn Equinox I awoke to the smell of the seasonal change. The air cold in my bedroom. The kiddos snoring tightly against me, the only evidence of them being the small, indistinguishable lumps under our shared covers. The need for warm socks along with my snagged and oversized yet beloved $1 bargain pink sweater before I shuffled into the kitchen to start the kettle for my morning cup of tea.
As the kettle hummed softly I sat at the table engulfed in the early morning quiet, looking out to the endless tree line through the large windows that let in the sweetest, most golden light in the late afternoon without fail. I could see the foggy mist dance and swirl as it moved silently through the trees. It looked different. More brilliant, more fluid. Moving with sheer joy as if to say “Autumn is here! Rejoice! Rejoice!”
And rejoice, I do.
Every year without fail, I begin to count down the days to October starting in August. Every day crossed off the calendar means one step closer to the cooler, crisp days that I love so dear. In Autumn, everything feels so much more alive to me. As if the chill in the air magically transforms itself into glittering energy that fills the world with excitement. Mother nature carpets the land in a breathtaking tapestry of golds and reds, oranges and yellows. Death in its most majestic and beautiful form.
As the northern world begins to slow down and approach its upcoming winter slumber and hibernation, I awaken. An ember is ignited inside my heart that sends electrical pulses down through my extremities, leaving me eager to experience and create with all that is around me. I want to breathe in the clean air that burns my lungs while my brain deciphers the scents that flow through my nose at lightning speed. Earthy pine… sweet smoke… wet wood… decaying leaves… spicy cinnamon… salty air. My ears welcome the hush that has settled onto the land over the roar of the waves… a quiet stillness that seems to whisper “I’m tired and now I shall rest until spring.” My tastebuds strain to taste everything and anything that counts apples, butternut squash, and chai spices in the mix. Feasting as if famine is just around the corner. My fingers try to memorize each leaf and herb, as they dry and crumble in my grasp. Imprinting their touch to memory to last until the next time we meet again.
Until we meet again.
Yes, we’ll meet again.