With the ceiling fan on and what feels like an open window, I seek the warmth of a blanket. It’s time to bring out my wool shawl.
I had the immense pleasure this weekend of retreating in the woods, an annual event now during a weekend when the ground rumbles with the vibration of thousands of motorcycles. Actually, even in the wooded hills, we could hear the rumble on our hike. At six o’clock in the morning, though, a couple of us sat on the porch in the rockers, listening for owls in the trees. The ground was still. The small throw I had was just big enough to cover my arms, and when we went inside to make breakfast, I could feel the morning chill on my cheeks and hands. It was time for a fire. Our morning prayer sounded out, accompanied by the crackle and warmth emitting from the hearth.
That afternoon, I brought my knitting to the parlor room and sat by the dark fireplace. With door open, the fresh breeze was cool and refreshing. After knitting and napping a bit, the sun dipped below the trees, and a chill returned. An hour later, I built a fire, awakening the room with comfort and warmth. A room in which to share good conversation . . . and more knitting.
Autumn is a season of lamplight and glows from fires, gentle chills removed by an extra layer. Extraordinary sunlight and brilliant blue skies and days so gray to test your memory and resolve. There’s the brilliant burst of energy and color, if we are so lucky and conditions are just right. Then there’s the falling away. More gray than color. More darkness. An expected death. Quiet. Freeze.
In Autumn, life is still easy and the harvest abundant. The colors truly are amazing. We have to enjoy it while it lasts, for this, too, shall pass.