Autumn in New York

"I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." ~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Autumn makes me want to bake (this week I made apple crisp, pumpkin whoopie pies, and apple butter. Last week I made homemade apple sauce and apple pie) and take nature walks and go to bonfires and drive with my car windows down.

A mighty fine apple pie.

Nature walk.

Taken from my car window.

It makes me want to go to marching band shows and football games and apple orchards and pumpkin patches.

My sousaphonist.

My footballer, number 7. Split end.

Not an apple orchard, but a friend's apple tree and that is almost better.

Little pumpkins. At 50¢ each I had to bring one home with me.

It makes me want to listen to jazz music and read Harry Potter and watch Gilmore Girls curled up with a warm blanket and a cup of herbal tea.

Indian corn.

Autumn in New York is particularly glorious, the way the light hits the earth, gilding everything. It's magical, but it's also a bit melancholy as though nature is apologizing in advance. That sharp nip of cold in a Central New York autumn is foreshadowing--just a tiny taste of what's in store in the coming long, dark, cold months. Winters are brutal here.

But I don't want to think about winter yet. I want to breath in the pungent sour-sweet tang of a thousand decaying apples that have fallen in the autumnal woods. I want to glory in paprika-hued leaves and crunch through leaves thin and brittle as yellowed newspaper clippings. I want to feel transcendental sun shine on my face and arms, at least for a few more weeks.

I went on a tromp through the woods on Sunday afternoon (I have to take advantage of the beautiful weather because there's no telling how long it will last). I like to do this when I start to feel burdened because it makes me feel peaceful and all my stresses kind of fade into the background. It's unreasonable how happy I get over mossy logs and mushrooms sprouting out of decaying tree trunks. I can't explain it.

Autumn fever?