It’s a beautiful, sunny 70-degree day as I begin to write this and I’m excited about the weather forecast bringing more of the same for the rest of the week. Just a few days ago, I broke down and turned my heat on for the first time and dressed in jeans, a sweater and socks and shoes for the first time in months.
It always feels so constrictive to me putting those warmer clothes on for the first time after a summer of shorts and sandals. But I was also glad for those cooler days because they have made the colors start to pop on the trees. I always get thrilled by the beauty of the changing leaves — the deep reds, golds, oranges — even the brown against the vibrant colors has its own beauty. I love the contrast of beige or gold wheat or corn fields against a backdrop of forest green pine trees.
I love all the fall décor — corn husks, pumpkins, scarecrows, straw bales, bushels of apples, etc. I have a loose theory, based on people I know, that we tend to favor the season of our birth. I love the fall — the sights, the sounds of crunching dried leaves, geese flying south and dried corn stalks rustling in the breeze and the tastes and scents. My December-born son used to love the winter although now he resides in Arizona. My January-born grandson loves the winter and some summer-born friends like summer best.
But then I mess up my own theory when spring comes and I’m just as giddy over the new green growth and flowers of spring. I’ll blame that back and forth on my astrological sign — Libra, the scales, always looking for balance. I’m not into horoscopes but I somewhat believe