There is a certain longing for sadness and solitude when the fall rolls in. The crisp grey air, the trees taking their last breath as their final leaves fall down to say goodbye and a fresh inhale of maple scented crisp air filling into the nostrils. Desolate streets lined with orange and yellow dustings, skies of morbid bleakness that beg the question of your purpose in this world.
How is it that weather can evoke such a severe longing for isolation?
There is a strange nostalgia pouring from my senses for a brisk walk through L5 in the fall, Central Park, or the Bird Sanctuary, where the family used to hike, followed by a pumpkin picking extravaganza. This of course led to a trip to get pumpkin spice lattes and a later request for a fire in our cozy den. Just the thought of running into a warm house from the cold weather right into a hot bath lined filled to the brim with bubbles lined with scented cranberry candles, then wrapping oneself into warm sweater stolen from mothers closet that still smells of her lotion and perfume. A bite of pumpkin pie and a sip of hot tea, a fire growling from the depths of the stone that cradles it, sitting on the dark couch rereading Brideshead for the fourth time with a single warm lamp offering a tender glow…
A day of Autumnal isolation. A day to be alone, to reflect, and to enjoy God’s remarkable masterpiece of mother nature in the season of all seasons.