“She enjoys rain for its wetness, winter for its cold, summer for its heat. She loves rainbows as much for fading as for their brilliance. It is easy for her, she opens her heart and accepts everything.”
-Morgan Llywelyn, Bard: The Odyssey of the Irish
But for me, I accept Fall a little more.
The nights are cooled, air softly chilling the trees, the ground, the toys that got left outside.
Hello Fall! I want to live in your indention with my sweater and scarf and heap of leaves with a warm drink that I will be careful not to spill.
These months are cozy and they draw me in with palms open and fingers stretched outwards. Music is louder, pumpkin is in all my foods, boots get pulled on.
Because I live in Southern California, my fall is a estranged cousin of real fall. My fall is mild temperatures and superfluous scarfs and gloves, but we wear them anyway, because we want to feel like we’re part of something. We sip hot beverages and sit by the fire because it’s iconic. We go to pumpkin patches in mall parking lots where a tarp is laid down, then wood shavings, and finally scattered pumpkins that were shipped in from Illinois. We crunch over the wood, tricking our senses. We’re not really in a mall parking lot, we are in the woods, we brought our knife, and we will find the perfect gourd and slice it off the vine.
The glow of the Sears sign snaps us back, and reality settles in. We find our pumpkin next to a Prius, and then buy it for 26 dollars.