Almost the First Day of Autumn
The countdown is on until the first day of autumn and also…my birthday on September 22. Yippee! It’s no wonder that fall is my favorite time of the year. The hues of browns, auburns, oranges, and yellows accompanied by the slight chill in the air, harvest festivals, hayrides, football, soup, pumpkin bread, the start of a new school year, short days and long nights…these are all the sounds of beginnings to me, not endings.
It is the summer’s great last heat,
It is the fall’s first chill: They meet.
–Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt (from A Woman’s Birthday)
I wrote a poem about my birthday when I was quite morose a couple of months ago. “Fete” Accompli I called it with a deliberate play on “Fete” or party in place of “fait accompli” or something that cannot be changed. I laugh at my poetry thus far and how I get a hankering to write it when I am low…with the exception of Loudly Silent Vibration. I am mostly in good spirits, giddy even, so I must let those high moods inspire my poetry too. The poem is snapshot of my emotions at that moment, but not the entirety of my life.
I’ve already made vegetable soup and two loaves of pumpkin bread. My birthday will be complete with a visit to Corn Dawgs’ corn maze and pumpkin patch and Stone Mountain Park’s pumpkin festival. Most nights my husband and I gaze at the stars, marveling at their twinkling while our dogs chase the toads that appear out of nowhere in groups of threes and fours. When the moon is full, we marvel at how big it is, reflecting the light of the sun. I secretly imagine that I can take flight and reach up and touch one of those stars. We pay our respects to the cosmos and turn in for the night.
I am surely looking forward to this first day of autumn, a new beginning where I accept the first fruits of a new harvest.