Finally. The AC is off. The windows are open. Sunlight's character has turned from harsh to soft. A person can sit outside and feel comfortable. Even better, can feel chilly. Need a light jacket, or sweater, or both.
Autumn. Second best time of the year, concierge to Winter. There's no snow yet... may never be snow again in East Tennessee. Thanks Al Gore... but, there is chill. There is crisp. There is cool. And that's cool.
What makes me come so alive when the weather turns? It may be my childhood (of course it would be, Mr. Psychologist. Everything is childhood). I grew up in Florida, as in love then with cold weather as I am now, but it was a love spurned. Cold weather was a myth in my young life. I have a very powerful memory of reading the comics, seeing Dennis the Menace in a jacket and scarf, and thinking, "What are those? And, why? And, not fair!" I was riding my bike in 140 degree swelter, sweating myself into a heat stupor, and craving the myth in the comics.
Maybe it's that my parents were clandestine cold-blooded creatures. Not in their love and care for us or others, but in their approach to weather. If the temperature dropped to, say, 84 degrees, it was time to break out the mittens, set out the space heaters in the bedrooms, pull out the wool blankets (which may never have been put away to begin with), and tuck Johnny in snug as a bug against the harsh elements. I would begin, well, continue and increase, sweating before I ever lay down.
All possibilities, for my disdain for hot and my love of cold. One other possibility: it was a secret, but I was adopted from a family that lived in Burlington, Vermont, and I grew up out of my element, a glacier in the tropics.
No matter the cause, it is my truth. Cold is good, hot bad. Autumn and Winter beautiful, Summer vile. Why it is? I may never know. I may never need to know. All I need to do is enjoy.
Which I do. So, I'm in love again. I'm alive again. I embrace this cold, and give back my affection.
What stirs your heart? What truth is tied to your soul? Hope whatever it is, you feel it, revel in it, and delight in it.
And I hope you, and me, can capture the essence of our loves, even if just a fraction, and transform them into our words, our writing, our stories. Because when we share what is deepest and truest in ourselves, our stories will shine for others.
Happy Autumn, everyone. It's time to make soup.
Comments