Posts Tagged ‘colours’

There’s just something about the fall.

I can’t put my finger on it exactly but something about this season makes me feel like I’ve arrived home after a long trip. Like the other three seasons are spent visiting foreign lands and when fall comes I again feel surrounded by all things familiar.

The warm breezes of summer are replaced by the refreshing, cleansing winds of the fall. The leaves rustle and flutter to the ground, the branches are once again bare and the colours, oh those colours.

Perhaps it’s because I am a redhead and have always identified with the burnt oranges and tinted reds of the autumn but something about those colours make me want to stop and drink them in. I want to take pictures of them, rub my fingers over them in the hopes that their magic rainbow will come off on my hands.

my street

I find excuses to go for walks in the fall. I drag my feet so my shoes can make the satisfying rustle in the fallen leaves. The cracking of overhead branches, snapping under the weight of the scurrying squirrels, racing to collect all they can before the winter comes. The honking of the flying geese, as if they are bidding me goodbye before their long journey. The sounds of fall soothe me, they rub away the sharp corners and smooth over the rough edges. I decompress.

For some the fall marks the end. The end of summer, the end of warmth, frivolity, long days and short nights. For me the fall has always been about beginnings. The fall is about fresh starts, long afternoons spent dreaming and planning, mornings with cold toes sliding in to warm slippers and fingers laced around steaming mugs of tea.

Fall is my deep breath.

Wherever I go in the fall I find myself constantly scanning the ground in search of the perfect leaf. It is impossible for me to come home from almost anywhere without pockets stuffed to overflowing with leaves. All different sizes and shapes, in all of those incredible colours.  I want to preserve them, savour them, carry their calming, soothing aura with me always. So that in the depths of the winter cold or the height of the summer heat I can pull them out and remember.

I tuck them between the pages of books on my shelf. There they remain until some day in the future when I pull a book off the shelf and crack it open, only to see a small reminder of a fall long past flutter slowly to the ground; slightly crinkled and brittle but with its colours intact. And it helps me remember.

That little leaf is a reminder. A sign that fall will come again, and I will be home.

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