It’s Autumn at home…they tell me. But I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about large pumpkin colored orbs – real and faux, and brightly colored leaves, and genuine foliage of red and gold. I don’t want to even consider a fire in the old wood stove – which was my first act of autumn, or spiced cider simmering on the stove flooding the rooms with cinnamon and clove and apple and romance. I refuse to dwell on the placement of the amber globes that hold my cream colored candles - outdoors by the entry, and one smaller candle on each of the iron bistro sets. The deeper red one would be in the kitchen window sparkling against the diamond shaped leaded glass, keeping me company while I listen to Celtic music and prepare a meal, hearty with love. I won’t even imagine the bowl of berries and twigs that hold a earthy pillar on my glass dining table, which no longer would stand naked reflecting the tole chandelier, but instead would be draped to the floor with the fall colored jacquard tablecloth.
I will not give rise to the desire of roasting a turkey with giblets and dressing and my daughter’s sweet potatoe casserole, or the amazing pies she makes. The hearty soups and homemade bread I make during the fall will take a backseat in my thought life. I won’t even consider that now is the time I put up the burgundy and red velvet drapes, and change out the bedding to crimson and wine.
I won’t entertain the idea of saying goodbye to Henry, the desert tortoise as he decends into his hole in the garden to hibernate; nor will I think about the fish in the pond going low for the cold months, and the water lilies kissing the sunlight goodbye.
No, I don’t want to think about it…at all. It is, afterall, Autumn; things are changing - changing color, changing texture, changing location…as am I.