My Favorite Season

It is officially fall. The mornings are bright and clear. The air is crisp and cool. The trees are on fire with color. The leaves are crunchy underfoot. The air smells smoky with burning leaves. And my nose is runny, my eyes itchy, my throat sore, and my lungs tight from coughing. It is officially fall. It is my favorite season by far. It means bonfires and s'mores. It means steaming vegetable soup and fried cornbread. It means a good pair of jeans and a warm sweater. It means deep breaths and a smile on my face. It means Thanksgiving at Aunt Nina's house where I can feed the cows and read in the tree out back. It means a warm fire, a cozy blanket, and a good book. It means the haunting sound of geese flying south. It reminds me of weekends at the hunting camp when I was small. It reminds me of hunters orange and four-wheelers and deer calls. It reminds me of getting up before dawn, a cold ride on the four-wheeler, and a long wait in the stand. It reminds me of snuggling up with Mom and Christy in bed when Daddy was hunting. It reminds me of Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, scrambled egg sandwiches, and sweet potatoe pie. I feel so exhilarated in the fall. The world and my life is alive with possibilities and hope and newness. Everything seems clearer, simpler, more right; my heart leaps every time I step outside or look out a window; I breathe deeper (when my stopped up nose allows it) and laugh more. I am content. I could not be happier.