Enter Autumn

There was a breeze this morning as I walked from my car to the front door of my day job. And I think it was an honest to goodness cool breeze—the kind of breeze that can only mean one thing: Summer is finally at the credits.

Each year as those last light days of spring change over to the summer’s blistering monotony, I brace myself with a steely will. I put on my flip-flops. I clip up my hair. And I take a deep breath, reminding myself that the heat can’t actually last forever.

I trudge through June, when the humidity makes walking from my car to my back door feel like swimming through a vat of cream gravy. I shuffle though July, when I strip the comforter off my bed, sacrificing home décor for a chance at a semi-cool night’s rest. I drag through August, when I would rather eat rootbeer for dinner three days in a row than stick one toe outside the central air-conditioning in search of a grocery store.

I’m definitely not a warm weather girl.

That’s why I think of fall as my own reoccurring miracle. Just when the middle months have worn my nerves to nubs, autumn tiptoes her way into September—quietly, gently, gracefully. She doesn’t need a thunderstorm to shock us into a change of season. She won’t demand our attention with icy roads or frozen pipes.

Autumn creeps in with moody skies and misty showers. She nudges us with the smell of wood smoke and pumpkin pie. And, if we’re lucky, she woos us with a show of color that rivals anything summer has to offer—blink and you’ll miss it, but it’s amazing while it lasts.

And there’s a mystery to autumn. Where summer displays her cards, all emerald trees and baked soil, fall holds a poker face with a practiced resolve. True, she can surprise us with an early frost or a thick fog. True, she can jolt us with a crisp wind or a starry sky. But, as a rule, autumn trusts her wonders to simmer, letting them rise up like steam from a pot to permeate our world and captivate our senses.

Before we know it, we’re hypnotized. We’re caught up in the magic of falling leaves and early dusks. We’ve abandoned dog-day sizzle for the lure of sweater-weather nights.

It’s still hot and muggy outside. The trees are garden-hose green and, and the summer sun is shining like he’ll never give up center stage. But I’m not worried. Fall has pressed the “all clear” button in my apple cider soul. I’m up to my nose in the magic and mystery of the season to come.

I’m lifting my head. I’m opening my eyes. And I’m letting out that breath at last.