"Fall" ing into it

The thing about Fall is that first I fight it.  I continue to wear shorts and t-shirts and flip flops and pretend that even though it is 50 degrees it will be warmer.  Tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Or even next week.

Until the morning I wake up and there is frost everywhere, including inside the house because my husband will not let us turn on the heat until ... until I say screw it and turn it on.  But that takes a few frosty mornings, and of course they are interspersed with gorgeous days, like today, where it climbs back into the high 60's and I can pretend for a few more hours that summer isn't so long gone that it will never return.

So that's my first stage of clinging onto summer with all I've got.  Today I have on jeans.  I hiked in shorts, but it's actually colder in the house than outdoors right now, go figure.  And last night I wore socks to bed.  So those are my first little concessions, signs that I am loosening my grip on the last threads of summer and finally accepting that the weather is changing, hell, has changed.  But this is ONLY because I am cold.  And I hate to be cold.

The next stage is trying to decide if the changing leaves have reached "peak" yet.  First I pretend that they aren't changing at all.  There will be a branch of oak leaves that have turned vivid red in late summer, and I close my eyes to them.  Denial baby -- I must have a brain tumor and THOUGHT those leaves were red.  But they weren't.  Which says something, don't you think?  That I'd rather have a brain tumor than have the season change.

I'm just trying to impress upon you the significance of this for me.  While spring is about life (have I said this already in another blog?  I am having deja vu) fall is about death. Decay.  As in, it's over baby, the fat lady has sung and there is only one thing left now -- 9 months of winter.

So the first leaves change and I ignore them with a vengeance.  Then the damn cold comes, and I ignore that too.  Then the frost and the DEATH of fresh vegetables and flowers and ... :::::::sob::::::: life as we want it, or at least how I want it, and somehow I have to be happy about this?  I DON'T THINK SO!

I was trying to be upbeat about this!  For heaven's sake, I was just driving around marveling at how beautiful it is out, and I sat down here to express that -- and whammo!  I start freaking out about the death of summer and life as I want it.

Well, that's kind of what it's like.  I attempt to enjoy the beauty, no, that's not true, I actually do.  But deep down inside I am kidding myself.  I WANT SUMMER.  I want to be able to go outside and I want to drive around with no roof on the Jeep and I want to swim and I want to sweat when I hike and I want to cloak myself in the hum of a hot summer night and breathe it all in.

Well, I thought I'd progressed toward stage two of my Fall-ing in love with fall, but it's not the case, is it?  And here it is, nearly 4:00 p.m. and the sun has already lost its vigor, the air is getting cold and I am reminded how much I hate daylight savings time.

So here's what I was trying to say.  Is it peak foliage?  Because once the oaks turn red then they all fall off and die, so then there are yellows and oranges, and there is always more green then you want there to be ... Wait!  What I want is a full cacophony of color -- I want them all to turn at exactly the same time, because it seems that once that happened and the world was brilliant with color.  But was that just my memory playing tricks on me?  Because it seems as though it has been YEARS since there has been a spectacular foliage year.

I think the leaves are just expressing the same feelings as me.  They don't want to die!  And they hold on to their color as long as they can -- but they know, as do I, that you can't stop a force such as nature, and then they give up.  But not all at once.  So what this says is that Oaks are weenies!  They give up immediately!  A bunch of red wusses.

And I too should give up!  My ability to explain that I accept Fall is Falling short because the bottom line is I don't!  It is the beginning of winter, and while I love winter, I'd love it a lot more if the length of winter switched with the length of summer.  I'd rather have nine months of summer and three months of winter, as opposed to the other way around.  And if anyone wants to argue that there are four seasons, fine, but there aren't.  Not in New Hampshire.

There is summer and then there is late summer and then there is winter.  And then there is late winter and there is summer again.  These fall and spring names are lovely and all, but they are insignificant because the leaves fall off within weeks and we are left with the desolate look of stripped limbs and that remains until late winter, when just before summer they get green again.

I really thought I was in a good mood and I was going to share with you pictures depicting my beautiful hike in the woods, and how beautiful it is out.  But all this did was remind me that winter is coming!  And that everything is dead or dying.  And decaying.

GEESH!

I blame it on George Bush.

And so should you!