A Fall Cotillion

While I was busy with daily chores, Autumn dawdled and delayed his arrival in my Oklahoma town. I felt an occasional chill in the air, and remarked with surprise. I stared out my kitchen window at the steady rain that filled the gutters with streams of water, rushing onward past my gaze. I considered the still green trees all around me, and wondered what was keeping him. He was late by at least a week, and I had things to do, preparations to make for the holidays to come. Losing myself in activity, I neglected to watch for the signs of the seasons changing guard.

Driving downtown over the weekend, I began to note the colorful clues all around me. At the fall market, polished orange pumpkins in great piles took up residence next to buckets of mums spilling rust, gold and crimson over their rims. A row of Bradford Pear trees lined the avenue, and at the top of one branch a red leaf blew in the breeze. Like an invitation in a bright red envelope, it fluttered for my attention.

So, I dropped some items from my to-do list, and took some time to celebrate the appearance of my beloved friend. The trees bowed and waved at me, shaking out their colorful skirts as they prepared for the grand ball. The morning mist frolicked around my feet as I walked through the field at the neighborhood park. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke, and leaves chased my footsteps down the sidewalk. The breeze whispered in my ear, and playfully blew my hair across my face. I reveled in this romantic dance, however short-lived it might be.

Today my thoughts turn to mugs of hot tea and bowls of steaming stew as I gather wood for my outdoor fireplace, and stack it neatly on the porch. I intend to gather these last days to me like flowers, and enjoy them until they fade, dropping their petals in my hands. For all too soon, winter will lay its blanket of snow across the shoulders of my town, and I will be forced indoors by the frigid temperatures. Autumn will shortly slip away again, while I am preoccupied with life’s demands.