The seasons are changing. Nights are chilly, the brush strokes of autumn are evident in the trees.
Yesterday, Scott cleaned the gutters, and Terra stood at the window, amazed and squealing, "Ohhh.... Mommy! Mommy! It's raining leaves!" And raining leaves it is. Our yard is collecting it's Autumn carpet.
The stores are full of Halloween costumes and decorations, but you can see them bulging, being visibly shoved from the shelves by an impatient Christmas inventory. I can't say I've ever really enjoyed the holiday season, but this year it's inspiring an even stronger sense of nostalgia and longing. Longing for the things of the past, and all that's been lost.
But on the other hand, I've always felt that Fall, rather than Spring, is the season of life and beginnings, when all things begin again. It's like pregnancy, full of anticipation. Spring may be the birth, but Autumn, these few weeks before the naked vulnerability of winter, is the conception.
It, much like the rest of the year, is full of conflicting emotions for me, but with a bit more intensity I suppose.