Sitting in the dark now, the music is Spanish, the temperature outside the door steadily plunges down to freezing and below. There's a yellow carpet of leaves on the lawn that wasn't there 24 hours ago. It's that stage of Autumn where things are at their most acute.
I saw it along the wooded hillsides Saturday morning - yellow mostly, some orange, a little brilliant red contrasted by dark evergreen. The leaves fell faster than they had been, and I felt a building panic. Definitely a noticeable increase in the tempo of decline. Any minute now and it will realize it's dying and start to thrash and bellow and fight with all the wild it has left. If we are going to pick apples, today is the day.
We ended up doing so later, the three children and I. We arrived ten minutes before the orchard closed for the day, purchased a five pound bag, and set out. The apples were all spotted, some were pitted and misshapen - organic and unappealing to the eyes of the kids. The eldest will graduate high school in June, so any seasonal activities like apple picking or Thanksgiving have taken on a sentimental significance for her. The last time.
Next year, apparently, she will be gone out into the world making a life of her own. I smirk a little, internally, but still have to fight off vertigo.
In short order we fill the bag, share some laughs, pay the boy, and jump back in the car. Just like that, it's over.
That night, the temperature drops below 25 degrees. The first killing frost. The next day the first snowflakes fall. I'm not ready for this.
I saw it along the wooded hillsides Saturday morning - yellow mostly, some orange, a little brilliant red contrasted by dark evergreen. The leaves fell faster than they had been, and I felt a building panic. Definitely a noticeable increase in the tempo of decline. Any minute now and it will realize it's dying and start to thrash and bellow and fight with all the wild it has left. If we are going to pick apples, today is the day.
We ended up doing so later, the three children and I. We arrived ten minutes before the orchard closed for the day, purchased a five pound bag, and set out. The apples were all spotted, some were pitted and misshapen - organic and unappealing to the eyes of the kids. The eldest will graduate high school in June, so any seasonal activities like apple picking or Thanksgiving have taken on a sentimental significance for her. The last time.
Next year, apparently, she will be gone out into the world making a life of her own. I smirk a little, internally, but still have to fight off vertigo.
In short order we fill the bag, share some laughs, pay the boy, and jump back in the car. Just like that, it's over.
That night, the temperature drops below 25 degrees. The first killing frost. The next day the first snowflakes fall. I'm not ready for this.
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