The Delight of Decay on an October Eve
I moved my coffee mug around my desk all day, placing it so that it captured the late September sunlight that crept out between the rains. I didn't just want the caffeine this day. I wanted the golden light filling me, the blessedly cool air flowing over me, and the clicking and barking of the crows by the river echoing through my bones. There is no stopping the flood current of autumn now and I for one am wading out into the incoming tide, delirious under flame-leafed trees and the wanton scent of the land as it begins turn toward decay. I am ready for this time of year. I am welcoming the picturesque death and rot. I wore my nerves thin on heat and smoke and wildfires this summer. Now I'm reveling in ridiculous gourds, tomatoes flaunting their multicoloured heirloom-ness, and the haunting songs of geese flying overhead. Dress me in apples and call me Pomona. If you've been around Rue and Hyssop in the early autumn you'll know that there's a foolish amount of fun