Falling Into Fall

We’ve fallen into fall this week, with temperature lows around 40 and highs in the 50s, gray skies, no color, a mist and sometimes light rain, cold. The comforter has returned to the bed and the heavy terry robe has replaced the light cotton robe. The windows are closed and the fans turned off. Sweaters and jackets have been pulled from the closet. The leaves on trees are beginning to turn (though they may have been for days, or weeks, unnoticed). The garden is spent, save a few lingering peppers, waiting for the threat of a first frost to be picked. The grass has stopped growing, the corn is turning brown. There’s talk of a chance of snow at baseball games in the northern cities for the last two weeks of the season. We pack for a road trip next week out east and have to prepare for sun or rain, warm or cool, the long-range forecast uncertain. “I like best of all autumn, because its leaves are a little yellow, its tones mellower, its colors richer, and it is tinged a little with sorrow. . . . It knows the limitations of life and is content” (Lin Yutang).

Fall Arrives

The leaves change to yellow, gold, and crimson, fall and swirl in the wind. Gloves and sweats are pulled out for the morning walk. The corn and beans are in mid-harvest. Winter squash and root vegetables show up in our CSA share, and the crowds at the Farmer’s Market thin. Piles of pumpkins and shocks of corn guard the grocery entrance. Windows and doors are closed, and the furnace comes on overnight. There’s a frost advisory for tomorrow morning. Whatever remains in the garden must be harvested or given up for the season. The fish in the pond cling to the depth, near as they can be to whatever warmth in the earth remains. We pull the quilt up from the end of the bed, firmly over our shoulders.