It's happened — that ever-so-subtle shift of afternoon light that foretells the oncoming change of season. And although it's still a month or so until the official summer-to-fall transition, it was today when I began to feel summer begin to slip from me. The beginning of a sadness, with the scent of apples in the air — and inexplicably, because I live in the city. But the memory of the ripening apples of my childhood — the four apple trees in the back half-acre — is so deeply embedded in all recollections of my earliest years, that once this lengthening of shadows occurs late August, there is that faint apple-air, always just beyond reach.
We're nearing the end of the growing season when it seems to have only just begun. A desire to prolong things — the blossoms on the tomato plants, the warm nights with every window flung wide, ice cream at midnight on the balcony. And yet I can't imagine living Equatorially, minus these rhythms, these fluctuations from heat to ice. And equal dread and desire for the stripped-down trees of winter, and the interminable January nights. (Beginning to crave hot tea with milk.)
Every year at this time I think the same thing: I've always wanted to fall helplessly, hopelessly in love in the fall.
There's still time, is there not?
Or why not a Christmas Romance? Sleigh rides, open fires, diamonds inside small well-wrapped prezzies. Sounds good to me!
ReplyDeleteWell if it helps any T you can imagine that apple air swanning over here where we will revel in it as we have had so much rain and we are all longing for spring.Today I banged into a branch as I was out walking and expected it to have claws but instead it was covered in soft velvety buds. :-) I love your piece of apple air writing however so am willing to let you hang onto it as long as poss.
ReplyDeleteyour being well north of me, we haven't seen the change in light yet, but I know what you mean. i love the autumn...a sweet melancholy. walks in the fall with leaves crunching underfoot. and yes, love in the fall. keeping fingers crossed for you.
ReplyDeleteOh yes indeed. Go for it.
ReplyDeleteSuch ripeness in (or is it 'at'?) the change of seasons. . .
ReplyDeleteI can smell your apples from here.
xo
O the light at this time of year in Manhattan! (Well, all times of the year -- they all possess their distinctive glory and beauty.)
ReplyDeleteFor us though, it has come to mean the Season of Nervous Holding the Breath: 9/11, the Failure of the Levees, fire, Hurricane Irene.
Yet, yesterday, on the sidewalk at 4:30 PM, big white puff clouds in the blue sky overhead, the leaves still full and green, the air perfectly summer hot -- wonderful, magical, filled with promise still of something wonderful, magical to come. If only the late summer flowers, fruits and vegetables now, with the autumn bounty ahead.
Love, C.
There is still time...for anything. Today I feel that so much is hidden from us because knowing the enormity of magic to which we are connected would render us senseless. Are there even such things as missed chances or is there a recovery room where everything once thought asunder is woven, in slightly altered form, back together? xo
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