As I drove home this evening, the gray clouds hung about the eastern mountains like the smoke around mount doom. My eyes traveled up the steep slopes to the fireworkian display gracing the mountainside. Like lava flowing from the volcanic depths, the bushes and trees near the top of the mountain emitted shades of deep maroon, rich amber, and pumpkin orange as they seemed to spread the changing of the seasons one to another, flowing down the mountain in a lava-ish landslide of rich, burnt color.
I felt the fresh air billow about me in shimmering folds as I cranked the stereo, and the strains of Jars of Clay wafted through the early evening air, breathing in the smells which spelled autumn.
Autumn is my favorite time of year. I can’t tell you just how much that I look forward to the onset of Halloween and Thanksgiving. I love fresh pumpkin pie, dressing in costumes, leaves falling in a myriad of rainbow showers, and crisp mornings that invigorate the lungs and mind.
There are times that I wish the season would last a few months instead of being so brief, but unfortunately it is not to be. It just makes me appreciate the time I have all the more.
The tinder has been set, and the tree outside my kitchen window has already begun to spark, the green in one small patch has turned to bright, sunny yellow. This is just a precursor to what is yet to come.
I look forward to the onslaught of autumn, and the entire forest igniting into flames.
