Falling through fall


There is just something about the air during fall. It hints at the warmth of the summer that had just passed while taking on the chilly bite of the winter to come. The crisp air is refreshing and inviting. Suddenly, I find myself making excuses to go outdoors whenever I can.

The sunlight dances through your hair, turning even the most boring hues to gold. The feeling of its warmth kissing your face is like when steamy hot chocolate fills your insides after a day in the snow. The sunlight warms the air to peak sweater-weather temperature– the perfect temperature. It flits through the trees creating the illusion of them being dipped in honey.

The trees change from the monotonous green of the grass and surrounding trees to something beautiful and unique. No tree has the exact same mirage of yellows, oranges, and reds. The basic Midwestern environment of Michigan becomes beautiful. It is almost as though all the beauty another environment provides in a year flourishes in just a few weeks. Blink, and you might miss it.

The light breeze rustles through the trees, swirling the colorful leaves to the ground. Their exterior beauty is fleeting as they soon wither and brown. They are still beautiful to me. Under my boots, they make the most satisfying crunch. It is almost as of they are cackling at those who mindlessly rake them out of their yard, those who fail to love their simplicity.

Children’s squeals of joy float into my ears. They bounce around in their yards, dog trailing after them. They put the fallen leaves to good use as they mound large piles of them together. One. Two. Three. They flop with all their might into the heaps, leaves scattering away like the remains of summer.

Inside, the fireplace is on. It fills the home with its soothing crackling. Peace. Happiness. Relaxation. Each lick of flame has a therapeutic effect on the home’s inhabitants. Each lick of flame provides a cozy warmth, one not even found in winter.

Beside the fire, bodies are tucked under blankets, and feet are wrapped in fuzzy socks.  Pets snuggle into any part of the blanket unused, happy to be close to the hearth. A book is never far away.

In the microwave nearby, apple cider is heated to perfection. It’s not hot enough to burn, but just warm enough to chase away any lingering chill, just hot enough to warm your fingers. The remains of cinnamon and sugar donuts lay crumbled on a plate lingering on a tabletop. Both taste like the essence of fall.

The sun goes down early. It must plunge us into darkness in order to prepare itself for what is to come. The sun must be ready to start another effortlessly perfect fall day.