September mornings are resplendent with the changes autumn brings. Maybe it’s the way the tangerine sky peeks through the pine trees as dawn predicts a new day. Maybe it’s the discordant sound of the crows cawing into the crisp morning air. Maybe it’s the way the light plays off the yellow-tinged edges of the ash and maple trees. We can feel the season change in spite of our wishes. I love autumn but not the certainty that winter will follow.
New York’s autumn brings apple picking and cider and donuts, falling leaves and chrysanthemums, football games and candy apples. It’s far too short a season, sandwiched in between the long, lingering summer heat and the even longer cold, snowy winter days and nights. We eventually adapt to the seasons themselves; it’s the moment of change that trips us up. Just as we get the routine down, we need a new one.
Autumn’s glory is brief. Soon wintry air will bring hibernation, an end to leisurely walks, bringing instead hurried steps toward the warmth of the house, to coffee and pancakes and comfort.
September mornings dawn with a splash of color and crispness to the air, waking us to a new season filled with the unknown.