striking a chord

I find that the shifting of seasons makes me less fearful of change.
Autumn has always had a way of calming me, and I missed it while living in Uganda.

I remember the November my grandfather died. Airfare and other expenses being what they were, my mother traveled alone to New England for the funeral, and when she returned, she brought with her several pressed maple leaves. Amber and auburn. Orange, Red and Brown. We fingered the dried leaves, clinging to the vibrant colors and trying to remember what apple pie and crisp fall breezes tasted like.

Since then, since removing myself from the equator and finding myself back on the east coast, I have remembered to appreciate fall more than I ever did when I was young. Particularly the two bushels of apples in my kitchen just waited to be peeled, chopped, sliced, folded and baked...the rows of potted mums lining the farmer's market on Saturday mornings... and the fact that with the arrival of cooler weather comes the trend of taking time to consume warmer (dare I say, hotter?) drinks, though, I admit, I drank hot tea all summer long.

Its September—nearly October.
And we've only just gently stepped across the line dividing summer from autumn. But already I can feel the earth changing. The leaves still hold their green shades, but the wind has begun to blow.


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