I’m falling in love.
It’s not a new love affair but rather a rekindled old flame. I ended things five years ago when I moved south to West Palm Beach, where the temperature never dips below 70 degrees.
I traded oak trees for palm trees, changing leaves for hibiscus flowers and piles of leaves for sand dunes. It was a clean break. I didn’t visit, didn’t ponder what I was missing. Fall and I moved on, and I started a five-year-long relationship with Endless Summer.
To be honest, I’d forgotten all about Fall and its showy leaves, its blue skies, its crisp air scented with burning wood and ripe apples – until I moved back north and experienced my first fall in Charlottesville.
Now I’m wondering how I lived without Fall for all these years.
I can’t stop staring at it. The orange, yellow and red against the Carolina blue sky. The leaves swirling in the wind and heaped on the ground. The cute boots and adorable sweaters that have surfaced. The stacks of firewood and pumpkins outside front doors.
The whole affair has made me a mushy, gushy, schmoopy mess. I have become one of those annoying people who wander about with their eyes in the air and gasping over how beautiful the leaves are.
You’ll have to forgive me, make a few allowances. After all, I’m falling in love.