It’s finally beginning to feel like fall here. The leaves have started changing, and there’s a chill in the air.
Fall used to be one of my least favorite seasons because it means that summer is officially over, winter is coming, and orange, my least favorite color, is as ubiquitous as, well, pumpkin-flavored-everything.
Over the years, though, I have warmed up to fall and even, dare I say, to orange. One reason is the yearly trip to the pumpkin farm with my parents when my daughter was little. I remember one particularly beautiful, warm October day.
The brilliant blue sky is filled in the background behind a row of pines, green as ever. A red-roofed pavilion houses displays of Indian corn, boxes of grotesque gourds, and parents with little ones. A maple tree, tall and bent a little, shows off orange leaves, while the orange of the pumpkins below upstage the yellow hay and brown dirt.
She’s two on this visit and can walk and even run among the misshapen, mutant-looking pumpkins. She’s looking at the camera, squinting in the late morning sunlight. The blue of her shirt, of her plaid overalls, even her eyes, reflects the blue above her.
Light bounces off long blond hair as she stands next to a group of the largest pumpkins, their shadows taller than she is. Her hands are clasped together uneasily, plump little fingers gripping each other. She’s half-smiling, unsure and even a little confused. “What are these things, Mama? Will they get me?”
The photo, one of my all-time favorites, hangs on the inspiration board in my office—a memory of a day filled with beauty and a heart full of gratitude.
What is your favorite season? Why? What is your favorite memory of fall? I’d love to hear. Just leave a comment below or on my Facebook page.
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