duhpursuit

Already my heart and mind are wholly devoted to fall. I am hopelessly infatuated with the smells of baked apples, cinnamon, pumpkin, and cloves. With the warm, comforting smells of oven-baked dishes–roasted potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole. It’s not my stomach I want to fill, it’s my senses. The aromas and textures of a home preparing for cold weather. The desire to make things tidy and clean. To smooth down the corners, the linens, the countertops. To wrap myself in blankets while a cool breeze drifts through the open window, a good book and a sleeping cat, a drowsy husband.

These are always the most beautiful days. While everything holds its last for just a few more moments, still strong on the limb before the trembling starts, before the rigid stems crisp and drop their sails.

Already the garden leans under the weight of late season fruit, bearing down to return to the soil. We manage to harvest a few before they begin to rot or house insects who are also making preparations. Also devoted to the tides that will sweep them into the earth dampening the darkened loam, the slowly shifting grains of sand.

These are always the most beautiful days. When the sun still warms the roots. Buds burst open, glazed with an unexpected rain. Close by neighbors are still shrouded in green. The earth still splits, still seams easily enough, a bouquet unwrapped and scattered before the vase. The small fruits of shrubs and trees have yet to harden and fall. Still promises to keep. Still miles to go before they sleep.