Fall is the best season, isn’t it?
Of course, I’ll say that about whatever season breaks fresh on the scene. I’m unfaithful that way. Always eager to embrace whatever the wind blows my way, it is change itself that is always welcome.
The transition to fall here in Florida is much more subtle than my upbringing in the Pacific Northwest.
As a girl, I remember walking to school in a spooky autumnal fog, and then throwing my sweater off at the blue sky and crimson leaves on my way home. I remember brisk walks, chilly ears, puffing small clouds from my mouth, and feeling as though every year, the air was somehow recycled. Fall freshened air itself.
Yesterday, in Miami, Jack and I got caught in a tropical downpour coming out of the grocery store. We lost a peach in our scramble to the car, and got soaked though and through. We had to change our dripping clothes in the foyer while lightening crackled all around us. It will be 90º this weekend.
So, it’s different.
And yet, this morning I took a cup of coffee outside and our Royal Poinciana rained tiny yellow leaves all over the ground and into my cup. (Fall.) Two weeks ago, I saw the last bastion of its gorgeous red blooms fall away. (Spring.) Finally our tree was full of welcome green shade. (Summer.)
But already some of those leaves are turning and fluttering to the ground. This tree will never be completely bare. There will never be a big pile of leaves for my children to jump in. Tourists will call Miami summer even in January. They will wear tank tops while residents sport jackets and hats.
Everything is relative.
Those of us to live here see the subtle shift. The break in humidity. The bluer sky replacing summer haze. Teeny, tiny, yellow leaves nodding to the traditions of the north.
Am I making all this up? Seeing what I want to see?
Does it matter?
One of the glories in life is being able to find what you seek wherever you may be.
If nothing else, fall is about glory falling from the sky,
and landing brightly in our path.
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