God I hate Fall. I hate how my favorite season, the wonderful Summer, slowly winds its way towards a winter that I know will be cold and blustery. I hate having to pile on bulky sweaters and clunky boots, my fingers and toes surprised by the chilly cold. I hate how everyone I know talks endlessly about pumpkin spice lattes. I hate how, on my evening walks, I find myself quickening my pace in order to beat the sunset home, pounding the pavement where I used to meander and linger. I hate how Fall always reminds me of the passage of time, the siphoning of another year from my heap, making me stop and reflect on where I’ve been and where I hope to go next. I hate how the sunlight in Fall seems in such a hurry to rush off, it’s gorgeous light blinking at me through the tops of changing trees. I hate spending lazy days with friends in orchards, picking crisp apples, then heading over to my mom’s house to transform them into pies and crumbles. I hate how I can’t eat three apple pies for dinner. I hate that everything during Fall seems a little slower, a little more deliberate, a little more measured. I hate seeing the world transform before my very eyes, the landscape shifting into its winter skin, preparing itself for a cozy winter, one that’s filled with holidays and family and big meals and little surprises. I hate how Fall gently beckons us inside, out of the cold and into warm living rooms where we’ll be together. God I love fall.
The Vagabond Stomach 