An end brought the rain, and the rain broke the heat.
Those with AC wouldn’t know it, but fall has arrived, its coming authority spoken through the harbinger of a cool morning. Houses always at 68° have forgotten.
The memories seep through my flannel stale with a mothball tang of last winter’s wardrobe. The fall breeze freshens a new season. The fall breeze reawakens the dormant, an old feeling.
This cool rain does not come to give life as spring, but to extract what remains in the heaving limbs of heat-worn woods. The fall rain pulls down and brings soft rot to crackling death.
A little coldness that seeps into the shoulder or a few drops hanging off a beard is all it takes to transport us back to years past, when falling shadows stole the warmth of the day and brought us around a bonfire, happy to share these last days before the snow. The children found pumpkins, the boys played pick-up, the girls squealed at their games, the men raked and gathered and breathed in refreshing air for the first time since spring, the women made ready homes which were to be havens once again. We kept those last days outside as the warmth was taken from us.
I remember what it is to turn on the car heater, impatient to shake a little ice out of my hands. I remember what it is to put on a jacket and a beanie and maybe even a pair of gloves if my pockets might not do. I remember what it is to hug a young woman and hold her just a little longer for the comfort of it.
Fall greets me with a cool morning while October is weeks away. But these winds carry memories of October, which is kin to November. Color will blush bright and rust lifeless in a flourish of weeks. I recall what it is, and I long for it to come fast and pass lazily, stemming the snow. A cool September breeze is piquant nostalgia.
Fall visits with the promise of old memories as life fades from these fading limbs. Linger long, my friend.