Falling

There’s always something about the arrival of Fall that I find deeply comforting.

Don’t get me wrong, I genuinely love Summer.  I love her reliability – her near-constant light and temperatures.  Once you hit 90, can you really discernibly tell if the temperature continues to rise?

I love breezes, water, cold drinks (even the ones without alcohol in them) and frozen dairy on a stick.  I love grills, patios, porches, and blowing bubbles.  I love hiding in the shade during the brutal mid-day sun and maybe even catching a blanket-free catnap.

I love Summer, but I love to see her go, too.  There’s something about all that sun- blinding consistency that seems to stop the passing of time.  By August, I find myself watching the crowd for Punxsutawney Phil or the other Ghost Buster that I always confuse with Bill Murray.

But then the evenings start to get a little cooler.  The dawn arrives a little later.  The sun slides just a little lower in the sky and the light takes on that unnamable quality that you only see as Fall approaches.

And the passing of time resumes again.  It calms me, solaces me.  The ominous weight of captivity that’s been building for months begins to dissipate and I breathe a little more freely.

Sure, it quickly descends into dread over the impending HELL OF WINTER, but for a brief handful of weeks, anything and everything seems possible.

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