It’s fair to say that I don’t really have a favorite season,
unless it’s the season I’m in. Okay, if I’m going to be honest, maybe winter is
the only season that isn’t quite as favorite as the others. But we don’t have
to go there yet.
One of the things I like about autumn is the abundant pops
of orange as I’m driving through the countryside. Pumpkin patches! Happy
bulging orbs of orange, still on vines, stacked on wagons, propped on fence
posts. Images of pumpkin pie swirl in my brain and the thought teases my tongue.
Yum!
I’m a fan of sitting cozily inside while the rain slashes
down the windows. It reminds me of the time in first grade (fifty-some years
ago) that I was allowed to sit on a stool in front of the classroom and read a
story to my classmates on an afternoon when the rain almost drowned out my
voice. And I had to read very loudly about
Lassie saving the kittens from their watery doom in the ditch. Hooray for the
hero!
And what other season actually gets two names? With
rainstorms spewing and leaves descending in showy piles, autumn tends to fall
all over herself.
I identify with autumn as she stumbles along, trying to hold
on to summer, bumping against winter, with not a single grasp of graceful
spring.
