Autumnscape

I understand how Alice must have felt

stepping into Wonderland for the first time—

the odd, yet familiar colors and sounds,

bombarding her senses like flashing memories from a dream.

I find myself tumbling down a similar rabbit hole

the second I feel the unmistakable leafy crunch beneath my boots,

the auburn glow of vibrant canopy sunlight shining in my eyes,

or the refreshing scent of ripe squash filling my nostrils.

When autumn arrives,

it wraps around me like a hug.

All its brilliance and strangeness,

warm and welcome,

the shift from summer to fall

leaving nothing untouched.

The transition demands to be seen, heard and felt.

And whenever it begins, I always take the plunge.

Beautiful mums, celosia and kale decorate every nook of my front porch,

garlands of blazing orange, preserved since childhood, above every door.

The perfume of candles with autumnal names drift from the warmer,

"Grandma's Kitchen," "Cinnamon Stick," "Apple Crisp," "Sweater Weather."

Pumpkin seeds and maple pecans roast in the oven,

peach cider and tomato soup bubbles on the stove,

caramel is drizzled over drinks and desserts

bursting with fall flavors, pumpkin spice chief among them.

Mourning doves' song rides the cool morning air,

while crow's caws echo in the trees by afternoon.

If it rains, the water never dampens the autumnscape—

it refreshes it, enhances it, creates the opportunity to admire it from inside.

You might find me wrapped in a blanket,

cat at my side or resting comfortably on my lap,

freshly brewed green tea with elderberry and honey in hand

while I sit in the room with the most windows, listening, watching.

Car lights bounce off the surface of the creek,

which was once a dry street,

and earthy, muddy scents mingle,

stirred up by the impact of heavy droplets.

I watch my Halloween decorations dance in the breeze,

listen to my wind chimes' chaotic melodies,

gingerly taste the green tea in my mug

to see if all the flavors have embraced each other.

As I write this,

my excitement and happiness stir,

at the thought of fall just beginning

merely a day ago—

it will pass by in the blink of an eye, but till then,

I refuse to emerge from the rabbit hole.