Days get shorter, leaves start to change color, it’s a tad cooler when you step outside in the morning, you have to slow down for school buses. This is fall. For many of us, these images conjure up feelings of an end. An end to a summer, an end to free time, an end to outdoor festivals, and probably and end to much more. For me it always was, and still is, the best time of the year. It’s a renewal. Football, sweaters, the first frost, the anticipation of the first snow, and back to school to see old friends. My father and I would always monitor our favorite tree sitting next to our pool. This maple would invariably change colors before the rest. Each year we would watch it and eagerly await the first hint of red in its leaves.
On fields o’er which the reaper’s hand has pass’d
Lit by the harvest moon and autumn sun,
My thoughts like stubble floating in the wind
And of such fineness as October airs,
There after harvest could I glean my life
A richer harvest reaping without toil,
And weaving gorgeous fancies at my will
In subtler webs than finest summer haze.
Fall begins September 20th.