Fall, leaves, fall: die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day,
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night's decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
- Emily Brontë
I am dressing with more colours for autumn and trying to pretend it is not 90 degrees outside. I long for autumn, cool air, pumpkin friendly environments, boots, jackets, and leaves falling. I long for it and think about it more than the average person. It seems so far off - like a dream. My senses are awakened to the possibility, keen and aware, yet lacking in the realistic nature of the desired season coming soon.
I hold onto a hope that we will soon get a sense of autumn. A clearing of the air. The chilled breeze lofting. The crunch of leaves that have fallen to the ground. The scent of cinnamon and herbs.
But not yet.
Perhaps if I am patient.
Autumn is golden tones - yellows, oranges, reds. To be incorporated in all aspects of the day. From apples to snack on, and utensils to write with (thanks C & C!). But autumn isn't here, yet. We just have to hold onto the hope that it will soon arrive. And it will.