I am very seasonal. Winter in looks, Spring in personality, Summer in love, and Fall... well, Fall in nature, excuse the pun. Fall is when I feel the most alive, as the rest of the world prepares for the long slumber. I too long for the sweet silence of hibernation, but, unfortunately, humans haven't evolved up to that stage yet.
I mosey along in the afternoon. Bright blue skies up above, a few puffy clouds. Jet trails criss-cross like giant white spider webs. Everywhere, leaves bounce this way and that. A gust of wind starts a small dust devil, picking up stray leaves and whirling off down the street. The sounds of cars murmur from the road on the far side of the park. Trees vary in shade, though very few still sport their summer greenery. I mostly see the golden yellow of a child's crayon, though here and there is brilliant red, dark purple, and the orange like pieces of pumpkin. Even the bare branches are beautiful as I walk through mounds of ginkgo leaves.
From here on my walk, I can see a family out raking leaves into large piles. A father, a mother, two little kids, boy and girl. The parents combine their piles into one huge mound of vegetation. They leave to go around to the back of the house... probably to get leaf sacks in this town of no-leaf-burning. The two children look at each other and I grin, knowing exactly what's running through their minds. The little girl makes a standing jump into the edge of the pile, giggling as she flops down, leaves popping up into the air. Her brother decides to take a running start and lands in the exact middle of the pile, his entrance sending the leaves up in a fountain of fall colors. Too bad this isn't a sport in the Olympics. They'd be natural 10's. But then again, most kids are... The parents have come back now from the back. My good mood starts to fade as I expect the kids to get chewed out. To my amazement, the two simply stand there, watching their children play in the leaves, his arm around her waist. The two kids continue to play, throwing leaves at each other, making leaf angels, as I happily walk out of sight.
The wind shifts as the sun drops lower. That particular scent that says 'fall' like the scent after a rain. Dry and crisp as the leaves under my feet that crunch away into smaller and smaller pieces. A smell of charcoal as someone tries for yet another cookout before the temperature drops and the snow flies. Charbroiled steak follows it. Apple scent from the fallen of someone's tree. A scent of 'illegal' leaf burning, comforting in a way, reminding me of my small hometown falls where neighbors gathered around leaf piles, trading news as the remains crumbled into ash. A breeze of toasted marshmallows? I wonder how far that has traveled....
A few groups of teenagers are also out. As one group passes a stand of crabapple trees, a crow drops out of its branches. Maybe it's a raven. As my mind wonders about ravens in Illinois, much less North America, one of the group crouches down and reaches a hand toward the bird. I can see the crow, as I call it, tilt its head back and forth and then dart its beak at the young man's hand. He falls back in surprise, but is soon picking a crabapple off the ground to offer to the avian. From this distance the crow looks to be about a foot high, at least. I'd worry about the fate of chihuahuas in this neighborhood... The others in the group crouch around the two, offering crabapples in their turn. A young woman walks by them, her head tilting this way and that, much like the crow, in an effort to make sure that what she is seeing is real. She walks to her car, a short distance away. As she opens up the door, the crow flies over to the car, landing on the hood. His teenagers have abandoned him for other park wonders. The bird and the woman look at each other. She nods her head at him and gets inside her car. As she closes the door, the bird hops over to the windshield in front of her, then flapping up to the roof as the engine starts. She starts to leave the small parking lot. As she turns out of the parking lot, he leaves the roof of her car to glide behind a different group of teenagers who are taking a path back to a small pond. As the crow lands next to them, one of the group jerks back away from the bird, the echoes of his shout soon drowned out by his friends' laughter.
I walk on. A rose garden is sheltered in a little nook. Here and there, bushes still sport unopened buds. Dying morning glory vines in the trellis behind them reveal hidden fairies carved into the wood of the trellis slats. I thread my way in between the thorny bushes to bend down to the few opened blooms. They look very pretty but there is no smell. How disappointing. I hear a crackle in the leaves behind me. I turn around slowly, my eyes frosting into blankness. The wary turn not of surprise, but more of a 'I knew you were there the whole time, I just didn't want to say so' Perhaps how a wolf would turn, to show that one is neither predator nor prey.
It's just a squirrel.
The sparse clouds overhead have now turned a dark blue as the sunlight drops into the red spectrum. The warmth of the last few rays of sunlight touches my face, soaks into my dark jacket. A clean fresh breeze toys with my hair, tendrils stroking the back of my neck. Another leaf devil plays around me, scattering fragments in its wake. I can see a field from here. Broken stalks jut up from a corn field where combines have already passed. The harvests have all been taken in by now. The ground is bare except for a few strays missed by a turn of the combine or broken by the wheels of the trucks. Some hay bales are still sitting out, covered in white tarp, like huge marshmallows waiting for some giant's bonfire.
This season is about harvest, the true ending of the year. Winter is but the rest, the breath taken before the movement. Spring for beginning. Summer for growth. Fall for ending. A place for lighter introspection than the long dark of winter. Time still moving forward rather than frozen. A time to give thanks for bounty before worrying whether it is enough. A season for tricks and treats and thank yous. A time when you can say it was all worth it...before the lack of sun and overflow of snow and ice and wind chills that come out of nowhere run you over like a determined salt truck. A chance to plan for next year while the colors of this year's work are still fresh. A time to remember and a time to dream.
The stars have come out in the darkness. The sky is so clear, I feel like I can see to the end of the universe. I can only recognize one constellation, but it doesn't matter. It's not often that the stars are so bright, so near. The lights from the rest of 'civilization' drowns them out so much. A hint of cold is in the air, perhaps it will frost tonight. I reach out to try and touch a star that appears to be just at my fingertips. There is nothing there for me to hold onto, nothing to touch or to keep. My logic laughs at me for grasping at stars. My heart just smiles.
I try again.
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