Joyce OreWhich way will October’s gusts blow?




Children at the school ground across the street are attired in an assortment of spring jackets, winter coats, sweaters of various weights, sweatshirts, T-shirts and shorts. Just like their parents, what they wear in the morning doesn’t necessarily mean that it will be comfortable in the afternoon.

The cucumbers we enjoyed a few days ago have turned soft and yellow and their vines are ready to turn into dust with the slightest breeze. We just celebrated the Fourth of July but feel that if we don’t have our Christmas shopping down by now, we are too late. It is fickle October.

Acutely aware that any moment October could betray her followers by exchanging sunny days for soggy woolen scarves, mittens without mates and bulky boots oozing with slush; I can’t help loving this mistress of subtle flamboyance.

I like the swishing sound of footsteps shuffling through scattered masses of dried leaves.

I like October’s culinary offerings of tangy cider, spicy doughnuts and caramel apples that crunch with each bite.

I like the full-cheeked squirrels, busy with last minute preparation for winter snows, and the flocks of blackbirds rising from the harvested cornfields.

I like walking in crisp, fall nights when one can almost touch the full harvest moon hanging just beyond the trees.

I like the blazing tints of orange, gold, bronze and purple, dramatically assuring each of us that fall has as much to offer as spring’s bright green freshness and summer’s boundless energy.

I revel in the tranquility and gentleness of October, for within just a few weeks all will change and she will be but a memory.



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