Hard frost means basil gone black, impatiens made slimy, tender summer veggies finished—and so a frantic last ditch harvest. But a good hard frost ends allergy time, and gives me my chance to enjoy, unhindered, my favorite season of the year.
I love fall. Vibrant oranges, golds, and reds shimmer under intense blue skies. Impetuous breezes rattle leaves and waft about the pungent fragrance only autumn gives. Cricket twitter rings, intermittent, in the grass around. A lone crow’s caw echoes against the quiet backdrop empty now of summer’s busy sounds.
Something unique in autumn’s essence tugs harder at the strings of my heart than all other times of the year. It is the minor key season, beautiful, haunting, like a Celtic melody played on panpipes. Something invigorating to my spirit permeates the crisper air. And, I suppose, all my years of school—learning and teaching—give fall the sense of new beginning that always came with new pencils, new tablets, new crayons, new “year.”
No, I don’t mind the frost. Happy Fall!