I long to hold onto fall, wishing I could stop the progressive changes in color. The sunny day, when gusts of wind begin to deliver spent brown leaves to the ground, is always a day of mixed emotions.
I love fall, but only the extremes of winter seem to connect with childhood memories. In south Arkansas, there were the rare snow days. We called them “free days” to miss school and play. More often, there were ice storms and the cannon booms of pines snapping like pencils in the woods behind our house. Memories connected with winter are easy, but those surrounding fall are vague.
Much is forgotten as the concerns of adulthood pile high over the seasons of childhood. Now, I sometimes pause to own a moment, hoping it will stay. Two falls ago I stopped beside a small stream to celebrate a shimmer of color, soon to be washed from its rocky perch. The leaf is gone, but the joys of that day are not forgotten. I should pause more often.
In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: “Gone, But Not Forgotten.”