NANOWRIMO 2020

11.27 Fall

Autumn is the best season of the year.

The ocher leaves fall in great heaps at the base of trees, all the birds dot the sky in a beautiful v-formation to find warmer lands, the frosty breath from laughter adds more clouds to the sky.

It is beautiful.

The sweaters, the layers, the scarves, the steaming coffee! It is a cool down from the blistering heat of summer and the humid days we barely waded through in skimpy tops and shorts.

Autumn is a breath of fresh air, cold and stinging as you take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs, full and crisp and alive. It makes everything come alive, the tip of your nose dribbles and becomes a happy cherry at the end of your face; the rose bushes send their regards to your cheeks, bitter and whipped in the wind; the animals scurrying in the park, ready to find shelter, ready to be home and curled around each other like happy little families.

Crunch crunch crunch the leaves announce their fall from grace, and gracefully they do fall.

Have you ever sat at a park bench. Doesn't matter where. Just sit, as the leaves are turning from their artsy green existence to the brilliant reds and yellows of autumn? Have you watched them tremble from great, arching branches and felt a wind slice through your jacket and see the leaves, the leaves they shudder too.

They shiver with you and then they fall. A silent snap and then there they are, the wind gusting through, with its invisible breath, to carry them down in swirls and abbreviated whirls to settle on your bootlaces.

Crunch.

Such a satisfying sound at the turn of the season, the best season.

If you're still sitting on the park bench, maybe you'll see the passersby. Those wrapped head to toe in winter wear, hoodie under jacket, a beanie pulled low over their heads, wrapped together neatly with a scarf. Walking Christmas presents making their way from one source of warmth to the next, be it a coffee shop or the long-awaited embrace of another.

They scurry too, but with a razor focus to get somewhere. They jostle each other and walk with a sprightly spring in their step, knowing the holidays are nigh upon us, that the time for celebrating all their hard work is near.

They'll come with coffee cups covered but steaming into their glasses. Arabica, pumpkin spice, cinnamon, hot chocolate, earl gray. A medley of warm smells floating through and away and lingering on their clothes, and yours if you stand close.

Crunch crunch. They'll meander away from your park bench, too cold to continue watching. And your hands will be frozen by now, hopefully you'll find a pair of stout gloves in your sweater, but if not, a gentleman selling roasted chestnuts will come by to sell you a sack to warm you as well as to feed you.

He won't be roasting them over an open flame, it is much too soon for that, but it'll do its job. A little reminder for what is to come and what is to expect at the end of the year.

The chitter chatter of the people will be constant and flowing, but it will be subtle. Another ambient sound to add to the trees bending and the leaves floating around. The sound of autumn.

Maybe sitting here will remind you of family. Of loved ones or friends or those who are no longer with us and the sting of the cold air will compete with the sting in your eyes for dominance. At least out here you can blame it on the windchill. Out here, it is a part of nature.

You'll remember Halloweens and Christmastimes, a Thanksgiving sandwiched somewhere in between. The sudden need to wear multiple layers and snow boots. Long hours in front of a fire telling stories, dares to venture into wicked woods, walks down paths that led nowhere and here we are down memory lane. Remembering.

The first fall of a new school. The first fall of a first love. The first fall of many, to be celebrated and cherished.

All of them slowly walk through your mind's eye as you sit on this park bench and remember. They pass through, not in a rush, memories holding the hands of other memories as you gaze upon this fall-en wonderland.

Maybe there's a tinge of regret to darken the bright fall hues. A smattering of guilt to add to the merriment. All of it will walk with you and surround you as you reminisce.

And then the sun will set. The sky will be blazing yet cold, like something out of Dante's Inferno.

And you, too, should seek shelter from the cruel wind picking up and wailing in remorse. It's nights like this that make the fall feel so alive, so carnal. It howls into the night and be careful to shutter your windows and lock your doors. These nights are dangerous for a reason.

You'll walk back, hopefully with a friend.

Maybe you'll stop by for a hot drink to warm you up before continuing onwards on your path homewards.

Leaving behind another trail of memories to revisit. On another park bench, somewhere else. Doesn't matter where. Just somewhere.