The Fall of Fall

Right now it is in the low 40's, the trees have done their collective upheaval, and the ground is covered in a layer of bone crushing frost that means starting the car, wearing a coat, and no more sandals. Fall comes and goes more quickly than any other season for me. As soon as we pause to look at the fall colors they've turned brown and crinkly and are laying on the cold hard ground of winter. But!!! Yes - there is a but, winter/fall is such a great time to write. It is the time when writing feels like the images in my head of writing appear. Fire places, hot coffee and tea, fuzzy slippers, dim lighting, oh and a laptop or notebook. It may be ridiculous that I cling to these fairy tale ideas of writing bliss, but they affect me in the same way that Christmas lights and snow laden branches do, like I'm a kid embarking on another joy filled holiday season. I specify kid because the adult holiday season is something else all together. Mangled carts thrust through 5 am store buster door ways, the psychotic rush for furbies or elmos, cooking dinner for nineteen people, overloading one side of the Christmas tree with ornaments and having it fall on you, shopping, overeating, more shopping, and then the shriek of horror at the balance on one's bank account come January 1st. This is a hypothetical holiday, I am not one of these shopping fiends. In fact, I avoid the grocery store during the months of November and December. I would rather haul out three year old baked beans and rotini noodles than face the grocery store mob clawing their way to the last jar of cranberry sauce. Really though, writing right now, in this moment, is made better because there is a fire burning behind me and I am wearing my husband's giant wool socks. This year I am thankful for that.