Friday, November 7, 2008

Her perfume smells like burning leaves...

I love fall. I love the colors, the crispness of the air, the depth of light. There's a different quality to the light in fall. It's mellow. More golden.
I especially love the scent of the leaves. That sweet, sharp smell that's especially strong after rain. I wish someone would bottle that and turn it into a perfume.

But this time of year also means that the colder weather is coming. Try as I might, I just cannot get used to it. I have been in KY now for most of my life, and while I can handle the cold better than I did when we first came here (from Florida, in the middle of January. To say it was a shocking difference is an understatement), I have never fully adjusted. It doesn't help that when the temperature starts to drop, my joints all ache. My hips have always given me trouble, but as I get older, they get worse. I can now accurately predict rain because my hips start to hurt about two days before an impending storm. Screw the weather channel. I don't need them. I've got my very own storm tracking devices!

It's not even winter and our bed is already heaped with every spare blanket we own. There is a regular comforter, a fleece blanket, a down alternative microfiber comforter, a cotton blanket, and a little fleece throw for my side of the bed. Currently, my fiance is sleeping on top of all the other covers but underneath my little throw. It doesn't cover him very well. He's twice my size, so his legs and chest stick out. He is also, might I add, on my side of the bed. This will not do. I see cold feet against bare shins in his future. That's my other problem with the cooler weather. My hands and feet go icy and don't thaw out again until spring. Thick socks and gloves don't help much. I can have on insulated wool boot socks and my toes still feel like stubby icicles.

I don't look forward to scraping ice off my windshield, or being able to see my breath, or having to wear layers of clothing every time I venture out the front door. I hate how dreary everything gets after this season of wild color and melting light. The fields turn brown and gray and the trees become ghosts of themselves. Crows replace the goldfinches and indigo buntings. There is some sort of stark beauty to it all. Sometimes I love it. Mostly I wish it were over.

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