This week we asked you to use the weather, or a photo of an autumn day bursting with color, to inspire an autumnal memoir piece.
Word limit was 300.
Autumn is home.
After a gloomy spring followed by sweltering summer heat, when it is too rainy or too hot to go out, and the walls become like a vice, squeezing me from the inside out, I welcome autumn like a prodigal child that has been absent for years squandering her inheritance. When autumn arrives at my doorstep, I scoop her up in my arms, fiercely relieved, almost enraged at how long she has been away, but thankful she is here. I breathe in her familiar scent as it washes over me. I no longer sit glued to a window wondering and hoping as I look out. She liberates me.
I step into the cold, choppy air and watch purposeful winds that gently transform the trees. Crimson and amber swirl together making an exquisite rug at my feet wherever I walk outside. The sky aches blue and the sun only allows for wisps of clouds. There is stillness and electricity. I realize how famished I am for all of it. Maybe, I wonder, I’ve been the prodigal one. In some ways, I feel as if I’m the one that has been away, and finally come home, the way I drink in the light and colors in big, noisy gulps.
It’s a strange season – the transition to sleep and hibernation when Nature takes a Sabbath from her artistry. But, my eyes are drawn to the trees whose leaves are dying. They are the ones on fire.