August said goodbye yesterday and this morning September said hello. Fall doesn’t really hit me ’til September when the mornings start later and the evenings get darker; the cornstalks are turning brown and the air wavers between sweltering hot and a crisp coolness. There are people who love the fall. They can’t wait til they can break out the sweaters and blue jeans, the boots and pumpkin spices and fall festivities.
I myself am not a fan. I can’t deny that the colors are vibrant and the air vibrating with movement. But at the back of my mind I’m always aware of what’s coming next: the dull browns and grays and blacks, the bitter cold and dreary days of winter. Knowing what’s coming up ahead only taints what fall could become for me. I feel my energy drain as I withdraw into myself each day.
I won’t begin to feel myself until the spring when the days grow longer and the sun gets warmer. And each day my energy grows just a little bit more. Spring is my element because it brings me hope that each day will be better; the promise of summer coming back to say hello and visit for a while.
And maybe in that sense fall and winter are good. Without the winter, spring can never taste so sweet. If it was spring all the time we wouldn’t realize it’s hope and potential. It’d become stagnant and distasteful. But it doesn’t make me love the winter any better. Knowledge can sometimes be usurped by ones emotions and experiences. But until then, hello September.