Can I say I wish that this weather would never leave?

Chucks in Central Park.

There are leaves on the ground here, but only because it has been so hot and dry. The relief we felt when the heat broke over the weekend was surely akin to what Noah and his motley crew of animals and family felt when it finally stopped raining. The past two mornings, I have stepped out of my door into weather that is unquestionably autumn: that brisk bite that calls to mind soup bubbling on the stove and gives you hope that, yes, one day soon you will actually need those cardigans you keep wearing just because they are cute. I have told Mike that he doesn’t need to ask me if I am cold, as I am unlikely to be cold at any point before January, but even I thought the weather was cool. Probably because of the bare legs and sandals I stubbornly chose despite the weather forecast.

Mike’s favorite season is fall, something he reminds me of constantly in August. As if fall is anywhere near our state in August. We’ve been making our favorite fall recipes and freezing soup. And even though I can’t believe it, I’ve been doing things that might actually be nesting. On a very small scale, let me assure you. This is a house where “dusting” qualifies as “nesting.”

I can’t choose a favorite season, but what I like about fall is the slowing down. Football-and-naps on Sunday afternoons, the sweatshirt needed for the evening walk. I like the cycle of the seasons, the way the earth is retreating into itself again in order to survive the winter. It says plainly that there is not just life but an end to life on this earth, that it is a natural part of things. Not something to be feared.

This fall, we are focused on new life, though what seems to be ending is the time that we have to prepare for his arrival. Every week, the kindergarteners ask me, again, about the baby in my belly. Is it a boy or a girl? When is it coming out? Every week I go over it with them again: This is September, and we have three more months before the baby comes. Only three more months.

Linking with Imperfect Prose. Title quote from “Miami” by Counting Crows. In case you were wondering.

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