Fall is early this year; I can smell it in the soft warm breeze that moves the bangs about my face. The breeze teases my nose with touches of mesquite, dried grasses and falling leaves. It feels more like October than September. Walking, ones shadow falls like a lazy dark friend revealing the distance of the sun's movement away towards winter.
Usually in Sonoma County, summer runs July, August, and September with an Indian summer from September to the week of Halloween. This year has not followed the normal fall weather pattern, thus the grape harvest is late. The grapes do not have enough warmth to sweeten on the vine. Growers are standing around waiting to pick. This is a scary time for wine growers, and the harvest fair celebration is just around the corner, the first weekend of October.
The vegetable gardens are thin and bare, as if in honor of those that suffered in the wake of Katrina. There is no abundance waiting in the bending green branches, summer has ended. These are the last weeks for kids to enjoy the evenings. Soon, daylight savings will have us in total darkness as we prepare our usual evening fare. The weather will turn cold, frost will greet us in the wee hours of the morning, then the rains come.
Halloween costumes hang in the shops beckoning alter egos to come out and play, dress up and eat candy for two weeks. Firewood and rolled logs appear on every shelf reminding us that our heaters will kick on soon. Hybernation begins as we shut ourselves inside our homes and internet chatting comes back to life.
There is a type of quiet that comes with fall, a quiet, which seems to slow the rhythm of the day. It is as if time stops for small moments, takes a deep breath, then continues. Large gusts of wind burst forth - shaking trees of their dying leaves, spreading them about the air like large colorful snowflakes. As suddenly as the wind appears, the gusts subside in mid-wind, hanging leaves in the air like vultures hovering prey, before dropping suddenly like a soft stroke of a paint brush. The landscape takes on the colors of redheads, hues of burnt reds, orange, pumpkin, chestnut and squash. It is our time of year.
Sounds of the whistling winds weave through the trees now replace the sounds of lawnmowers and swimming pools. Bikinis and shorts disappear to the return of leather and soft soothing sweaters. Comfort foods of casseroles, soups and chili spring up from the summer corn-on-the-cob, barbequed chicken and strawberries on sponge cake. Lawn chairs are folded, outdoor place settings boxed for the attic and blankets are folded on the edge of the couch ready for use.
This year's New Year resolutions are long forgotten, vacation photos sit in a top drawer, and hot tea replaces that last glass of red wine. Football cheers fill the living room and next years Super Bowl champions are born. The holidays loom teasingly over the next horizon. The time of the year we are all forced to be around people we may or may not miss, throwing us into tight mingling around too much food and drink, hoping for the best. We wish for Santa to bring us back to that spark of a child's innocence, and this will be the year that our long-held dreams come true.
Fall opens like a soft well-choreographed ballet, dancing lightly about us if we dare to notice. Act one finished, and I am ready to carve pumpkins and give out candy to the neighborhood. How I love this elegant autumn ballet produced by Mother Nature.
Until next time-
C
