in which I wax eloquent about fall

Rachel Hauser of the lovely Stitched in Color is throwing a little party, and you're invited! It's all about fall, and sewing, and inspiration, and, well...color. Check out the Celebrate Color page to see what it is and to get inspired. 

I've been thinking about fall all day. About the colors I associate with it, yes, but also about what it is to me. 

Fall, for me, is about a feeling. Living in Florida (aka the land of one season) means that we don't get fall colors. Or chilly grey days. Or big piles of leaves to kick through. So one has to be...imaginative...when getting into that fall spirit. 

For me it all starts right about this time. It's the end of August. It's hotter than I think is humane, school is about to start, and the boredom of hiding in an air-conditioned box all summer long has pushed me nearly over the edge. And then, one morning, I open my blinds and something has changed. The angle of the sun is slightly different. The light filtering through my window is not the intense glare of white summer sunshine, but the mellow golden light of fall. The shadows are softened, grey-edged and blurred. This is when I get my first urge (which I will, for now, resist) to pull out my pumpkin spice candles and light them. I tell myself, "Self. It's not even September. Get over it." But the golden light is still winking at me from between the blinds. It's calling me. Promising...something. But that something is going to be good, I can tell.

Soon the sweltering sticky humidity begins to fade somewhat, and I start feeling like there's an end in sight. Soon I will want to go outside and do outside things. The giant swing in the front yard is swaying in the breeze, and I'm already thinking about buying some pumpkins to put on the front porch. Maybe this year I'll spring for some of the pretty ones like Cinderella, Long Island Cheese, Full Moon, or Fairytale. I love how they look together: off-white, pale green, and of course--every shade of orange. 

Something about fall feels rich to me. Plums. A glass of good red wine. Deep red cranberries peeking out of the crust of orange scones. My stand mixer is running non-stop and I begin to feel like I live in my kitchen. The air has, through the alchemy of autumn, turned from a mixture of oxygen and nitrogen to a fog of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. Everyone in my house gains five pounds just from breathing it all in.

Sure, there are lot of things going on--costumes to be sewn, schoolwork to be graded, crafts to be crafted, and Thanksgiving to be planned for. But that's all just icing on the cake for me. Take away my candles, take away my turkey and stuffing, I don't care. That golden sunlight will still be there, teasing me from behind the blinds, inviting me to breathe it all in--every last cinnamon-filled lungful.