Autumn

Dark mornings, the early light weakened and muffled by clouds. My son says his fourth name is Autumn.

Packing lunches and backpacks, jackets and early walks to school.

The dahlias heavy with dew. They are still blooming, the garden still full of color but when the frost comes they will be gone.

Soccer games with wet feet. Now, I am the one on the sidelines, watching my children kick and run, a blanket draped over my lap.

Chai lattes in college and a dark, winding drive to my in laws’ lake house after class. Back then it didn’t matter how late it was, didn’t matter how many stops we made.

My children jumping in leaves.

The smell of grapes descending from the bluff, my mother in law making a meatloaf while I nap.

My wedding day. My dress too big, red and soft yellow flowers, pumpkin bisque.

Soft leggings and sweaters, my orange peacoat and riding boots.

The Fall Festival in my hometown. My husband running a 10k, the parade that I marched in as a teen.

Hay rides, some in the day, some in the dark, the straw always poking my thighs.

Apple cider donuts and pumpkins. Candy bars and costumes. Manhattan clam chowder and macaroni and cheese in my parents’ kitchen. Candles flickering in jack o’ lanterns as trick or treaters climb the front porch steps.

My cat sleeping on the radiator, plaid pajamas, and slippers. The butter on the kitchen island now firm.

The shadows lengthening in the low light, my own shadow stretching across the sidewalk, distorting me. It is another autumn, my favorite time of year. I wonder how many I have to breathe in the crisp air, to marvel at the change of season, to search for orange and gold and scarlet in the hills.