Fallishness

It’s Fall. And I don’t know that just because it happens to be November or because I texted my way into a giant acorn wreath in Target. You know, the way I knew it was “Fall” when I lived in Florida, which has 1 1/2 seasons each year: So Hot I Want to Die and So Hot if I Go Outside I Literally Might Die. No, no. Here in the almost northeast, there is a colorful, vibrant Fall. And it’s been a-blooming.

Now, I don’t love my day job. I know that, my husband knows that, my bosses know that and now you know that. But, in these past few weeks, I have been looking forward to going to work for one reason: the drive. I stopped taking the interstate (which is still prettier here than in the sunshine state) and have been going through the city to work. I should have done this about two weeks ago to catch our virgin Virginian Fall in full, fiery passion, but yesterday I finally took pictures along my route to work. These are all images of what I get to look at Monday through Thursday. I think it’s more than a good enough reason to be a little late. Every day.

I’ll start with the view from our driveway. And then through our neighborhood. And then along the drive that ends much, much too quickly every day.

I like this real Fall. The air is different, crisp and dry like wine. The morphing of green to yellow to orange to red is mesmerizing, and it reminds me that change can be absolutely beautiful. The layers needing to be shed slowly drift from the branches and blanket the ground with a hopeful picture of something yet to come. Leaves crunching in piles signal that summer’s heat is gone for good. Life seems to slow just a bit, if only in the backdrop of our mind where the sun sets just behind the afternoon, hinting that maybe we can rest a little longer. Boots and scarves and patterned coats feel like fancy costumes, so whimsical for a foreigner. Family will soon fill up these rooms that echoed through the muggy months. And I am a girl in love with this yellow-red season.