It’s October 18th and beautiful for me here in Denver, Colorado. One could argue it is perhaps the most beautiful time of fall. The freeze has yet to happen (an event that serendipitously seems to coincide with Halloween) and the leaves are golden (or as golden as they can be here in semi-arid Colorado).
Fall, I feel, will always have a feeling of rebirth for me. The kiddos are back in school with their fresh pencil cases the leaves are falling because perhaps they feel tired. New sports are televised, pumpkins are carved, an exorbitant amount of money is spent on variations of clothing we already own.
But still, it is fall it is a beginning during the middle of the end.
For me, it is a time of contemplative introspection. Is this where I thought I would be at 24? 13? 39? 57? Am I good enough? Am I living to their expectations? More importantly am I living up to my own? Here, Kurt Vonnegut might add something witty like, “See the cat? See the cradle?” But then again, maybe he wouldn’t have.
I perhaps would tell Kurt that I see the cradle. Because every time a leaf brushes past my nose I realize that a more (most) part of fall is the leaf, that transitory leaf, and how it falls with such precision