For the first time in my entire life I am reluctant for autumn.
I used to run from summer. Detested heat sticking on my body. Misery was September in Hawaii when the rest of the world welcomed jeans and sweaters and we ached for the rains to come and temperatures to drop a magic ten degrees.
The rains are coming in Oregon and I want to beg them to go away.
“Why is it raining mommy? … is it because the clouds are happy?”
I’m told this is nothing. Nothing compared to what we’re in store for and I’m afraid the anticipation of bones chilled has me resisting my favorite season.
Despite warm clothes in boxes (the few that we have) we are determined to enjoy all that autumn offers, rain included.
Fists clenched, boots on, camera posed, we play. We hunt for leaves turning and “baby pineapples” named by my island girl. When rain stops we stroll and splash in puddles.
Friday night is football and we bundle and breathe deep and enjoy.
I remember the cold of Bakersfield and high school football in my alma mater and frost on my car. My body must relearn what memory holds of living in cold. Blood will thicken and wardrobes will accommodate. Shortly, I’ll switch from iced coffee to hot until the sun rules the sky again.
Holiday sales and pumpkin patches tickle me a bit and I know it’s going to be good.
It has to be. At no other time is the earth more colorful than autumn in Oregon.