by Nan McKenzie
I love the fall, everything about it. My huge golden tree in front of the house, the smaller dark red maple next to it, the fat bushes in front of the porch that turn red to welcome cold weather. Summer is difficult for me, ‘cause I don’t do well in the heat, so when the nights and mornings are cooler, and a brisk walk in the early morning brings the sun up and turns my cheeks red, life is very good.
Sometimes there is snow dusting the tops of the mountains all around, and bears wander closer to town, looking for food to tide them over the winter. The cold mornings bring a promise of something new, something exciting that’s about to happen (not just snow, something else). I have more energy, sleep better, get more things done around the house.
Writing on my latest novels seems more effortless, with a little excitement that the coming finish brings. I look forward to the winter, the snow, the smell of new snow in the air, my boots crunching along. The studded tires sing of possibilities, talking to me from the bottom of my van.
My oldest great-granddaughter’s name is Autumn Mist, perfect for her, a lovely dark redhead, hazel eyes, getting taller by the minute. Both my kids were born in September, and I’ve always told them that my best gift to them was being smart enough to have them born in September, just a year and three weeks apart.
Gotta’ go take a walk in the cool afternoon now, a gift to myself.
Nan McKenzie, Autumn, September 21, 2016