The Glorious Golden Road
Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.
~Carol Bishop Hipps
~Carol Bishop Hipps
I truly can't think of a better word to describe autumn than "bittersweet". The entire month of October (and oftentimes November) feels like a suspended moment in time where the world is achingly beautiful and peaceful, yet tinged with melancholy...because we know that dead-looking skies and diminishing daylight are within reach. That the golden road to winter is fleeting, yet glorious all the same.
Fall always has the same effect on me, year after year. The very moment the air turns crisp and the leaves begin their inevitable change, I ache to be outside doing cliche autumnal things. I want to take long walks down desolate country trails. I want to constantly listen to bluegrass. I want to drive to the mountains and watch the stars by campfire. I want to visit farmer's markets and bake homemade pies. I want to learn to play the banjo. I want to drink hot cider and watch the sky's sunset bleed into the very same colors as the trees which touch it.
There's something about fall that also brings out the little girl in me. A childlike excitement bubbles up at the mere sight of colorful leaves. I want to carve as many pumpkins as possible, eat candy corn and run through piles of leaves until my cheeks turn red. I get sentimental for days past of trick-or-treating with the neighborhood gang and playing Kick the Can in knee-deep leaves until our parents called us home.
At this very moment, on this perfect fall day, I'm standing paused on the blurry edge of two distinct seasons...and feel content. I hate that the long, lazy days of summer are drawing to a close. That pools have been closed up and grills put away. That fireflies have been replaced by frost-covered lawns. But at the same time, I'm breathlessly excited to revisit Thanksgiving traditions and hear cheesy Christmas music on the radio. For first snowfalls and nights by a fireplace. For scarves and mittens and old, comfortable sweaters. At this very moment, I feel...
bittersweet.
Fall always has the same effect on me, year after year. The very moment the air turns crisp and the leaves begin their inevitable change, I ache to be outside doing cliche autumnal things. I want to take long walks down desolate country trails. I want to constantly listen to bluegrass. I want to drive to the mountains and watch the stars by campfire. I want to visit farmer's markets and bake homemade pies. I want to learn to play the banjo. I want to drink hot cider and watch the sky's sunset bleed into the very same colors as the trees which touch it.
There's something about fall that also brings out the little girl in me. A childlike excitement bubbles up at the mere sight of colorful leaves. I want to carve as many pumpkins as possible, eat candy corn and run through piles of leaves until my cheeks turn red. I get sentimental for days past of trick-or-treating with the neighborhood gang and playing Kick the Can in knee-deep leaves until our parents called us home.
At this very moment, on this perfect fall day, I'm standing paused on the blurry edge of two distinct seasons...and feel content. I hate that the long, lazy days of summer are drawing to a close. That pools have been closed up and grills put away. That fireflies have been replaced by frost-covered lawns. But at the same time, I'm breathlessly excited to revisit Thanksgiving traditions and hear cheesy Christmas music on the radio. For first snowfalls and nights by a fireplace. For scarves and mittens and old, comfortable sweaters. At this very moment, I feel...
bittersweet.
posted by Rachel at 9:52 AM
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