I made my first apple crisp of the season today. Which is a delectable insinuation that bygone are the days of flip-flops, climbing mountains and canoeing on the still waters of Ipswich. Naps on the soft sands of Atlantic is a distant memory. Scarves and sweaters have found their way, out of closets. Days have started shrinking, skies are grayer, birds have started flying south. Frigid, gloomy, snow-clad winter is very well on its way. But, not until we get to embrace the magical fall, gracefully pushing the winter into a hiatus, for just the right amount of time.
I do not play favorites with the seasons, I love them as they come, the way they are. But, I can not help doting at the fall, just a little bit more than others. I am not to be blamed. I live in New England. Fall here is nothing less than chimerical.
Urban autumn scents the air with fumes of endless cups of pumpkin lattes, spiced candles and steers the mundane conversations to connivance about eerie dresses and Halloween parties that mandate them. Sidewalks have yellow blanket of dried leaves, which makes walking an adventure in itself. The houses are adorned with artistically carved pumpkin lanterns to ward off the darkness. Farmer markets boast the crispest of apples and there is no better season to drink the warm, creamy soups. Life is simply festive.
When you move away from the intoxicating apple cider to the woods, nature’s treasure trove awaits. From what I hear, northern New England is the best place in the world for leaf peeping. One can witness the foliage in its full glory. Hundreds of miles of winding roads and mountains lined by trees that are scarlet and yellow, russet and brown, make me want to make them my home. I want to bask in the beauty of colors, I want to store these memories in my mind, to keep me warm during the winter’s reign. If there is a heaven, probably this is it. Oh, Autumn! how I wish I were a poetess or a better writer for that matter, to explain truly, how you take my heart away!