Almost immediately melancholy envelopes me and my mind
replays my childhood in vivid hues of reds, golds, and russets. There I am, my
ten-year-old self, on my blue bike, peddling through fallen leaves, an apple in
my pocket, and the warm sun on my face. I’ll be gone for hours, leaving my family
anxious with worry, but I can’t be contained this time of year. When I finally return
home it’s to the smell of my mother’s spice cake with the burnt sugar frosting.
If I’m not riding through the country roads of our town, I’m
raking leaves into massive piles, sometimes stealing from other yards to make
mine the biggest and best. But leaves aren’t the only lure. It is, after all,
the month of Halloween; witches and ghosts, a full autumn moon, and pumpkins
carved and luminous.
People don’t seem to revel in these simple pleasures
anymore. Children prefer to sit in front of glowing screens killing yet another
alien from some far off planet. But no matter where I live, in my mind I always
return to my roots when the days begin to grow darker and a chill settles in.
There’s a tree in front of my house now, not a glorious
maple or a stately oak, but nevertheless it heeds to the season and its shiny
green leaves turn to red seemingly overnight. It’s time to take out the
Halloween decorations, grab a light jacket, and kick up some leaves.
Happy autumn!
