Before Coffee: A Toast

October 7, 2016 § 1 Comment

The weather is starting to turn cool. We’re still in the 80s during the day, but the nights have the crisp edge that tells you frosty mornings are just around the corner. The trees’ hold on summer green began to slip over the past few days; I noticed a hint of color in the leaves today.

The maple nearest my house began dropping its leaves weeks ago: brown-spotted pages of waxy yellow clogging the gutters, brittle curls littering the deck. The rest of the towering maples and hickories and oaks in my yard will lose their fight soon, too, letting fly the summer stories contained in their leaves.

Autumn, to me, is a season of loss. We celebrate the dead in October, as the color drains from the face of the Northern Hemisphere. We pull into our houses and ourselves, bury our bodies in layers and blankets. Dark claims more of the day.

I know I’m in the minority; most people love the colors of the fall. The crunch of the dead leaves. Mulled wine around the fire pit. Pumpkin fucking spice in everything. Halloween.

Those are all nice things, and I enjoy them. (Well, not the pumpkin spice.) But they don’t distract from the slow withering of my world. I live for the months of green trees and blue skies, bare skin under a hot sun, long days of pools and grilled meat and driving with the wind in my hair.

I am a summer creature, and not myself in any other season. Although this summer had it’s awful side, it also had good days and better nights, full of moments and memories that scorched themselves into the flesh of me.

So here’s a toast with the good bourbon: To summer. Come back soon.


Photo credit: Fork & Stave 

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