Leaves of gold, red, and orange dance a well rehearsed ballet on their journey to the forest floor. They join their sisters beneath trees of Dogwood, Tulip Poplars, and ancient oaks. Great White Pines shake their hair to free themselves of needles loose that will pave a hiker’s trail. Firelight in the camp makes rosy cheeks for those who roast their wieners and marshmallows for s’mores. After the belly is full, we fill our bodies with the aroma of burning logs and leaves. We listen to the crackle as the fire warms our hands. A whip-or-will sings his mournful song in the distance, seeking a reply from a possible mate. From the next great hill, echoes the voices of barking dogs as they long to be free to chase scents wafting by on an autumn breeze.
The night air, stripped of summer heat, hints at a winter to come. The wind makes collars turn up, couples draw closer, and hands wrap round warm mugs of chocolate. No one speaks as dry leaves rustle, fire crackles, and red hot coals hypnotize.
Candied apples, cotton candy, and Cajon boiled peanuts are sold from a stand that formerly advertised snow cones. Pumpkins displayed on bales of hay or at the feet of scarecrows herald the season of Thanksgiving and romance. Yes, it is true that spring turns one’s fancy to love, but autumn is the season that fires our need to draw closer and feel the heat from the body we’ve chosen to couple with. A rainy night invites lovers to sit, as containers stacked in a drawer, on the window seat and listen to the rhythm of their hearts that beat to the rhythm of the rain.
Burning oak leaves, pumpkin pie, the aroma of mama’s chicken frying, and the cool night air are part of autumn’s glory. No other season can compete with Her sights, sounds, and fragrances. Oh, what energy the short fall days are filled with. As my time comes to fade to black, let it be as autumn slowly turns to winter; the season of death before the rebirth of spring.’
