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I can taste October. I know she’s coming. It’s one of those inevitable things that you sense before you can see. I hold on to summer with all my might, both hands clinched down, as if my life depends on it. I love every bit of summer, even the heat. I may mention that it feels hot, but you won’t find me complaining about it.
I adore everything from fireflies to birds, moonlight nights, campfires and friends, plush grass (and weeds), a bountiful garden and cool mornings that burn up in the afternoon. There isn’t one that I detest about summer so naturally I never want it to go. Never! I could live eternally in this season and even if I live to be 90, I’m certain that the season will make feel young once again.
Summer’s warmth draws me out of the house and into the natural world more easily, though fall often beckons me in similar ways. Autumn is a transitional season, one that cushions the inevitable adrenaline decline that has built from May to August.
I secretly look forward to hot cider, campfires with a blanket wrapped around me and steaming mug of pumpkin spice coffee. It’s not the same as the passionate love affair I have with all things summer, more like a comfortable companion that I know waits for me year after year. I can gently rock into the red and gold brilliance, breathe in a little George Winston and relax.
This doesn’t mean I’m giving up on summer, not hardly! There’s still plenty of it left for me to savor and make memories with. There’s enough that I can distract my mind into thinking that it’ll last forever, even though my heart is whispering that it won’t. It will come around again, and so I’ll spend the next three months lying in wait, dreaming, planning, praying that it will arrive quickly, while at the same time appreciating what IS in front of me; be it soupy days or snow drifts.
I hear you October. I know you are on your way.