Fall

Today I walked outside the library and smelled leaves. Earlier I'd been driving to an appointment and came down Duff Avenue as gold and orange leaves swayed to the street, and that was pretty, but I decided outside the library there really isn't a substitute to crunchy red maple leaves beneath your feet, with that sharp smell of mild decay to make it truly fall in Iowa. I wonder if fall is so perfect because the holidays are so well-spaced, or because you can go out without coats. Christmas used to be quaint, but now it's such a glut of shopping and lights that it's become gaudy more than anything. Holiday tunes crank up the day after Thanksgiving or before, but there's not much to gear up for in fall. Halloween, I suppose, and it does seem that there are more costumes all the time – ones for dogs, which amuse us because we have cats and know that would never, never happen with a feline. But mostly fall is sharp cold air and crunchy red leaves. The temperature flux in Iowa can drive one batty, like last week when I had the air on in the morning because it was 85 and very muggy and the heat on that night because the overnight low was 40. (Cold air mass moved through.) I think it may be worth the annoyance and resulting colds because the flip side is that I've got great crunchy leaves outside, but my heat is off and the windows are open upstairs. I think my favorite part of fall this year is knitting, though. I made Anna a pumpkin hat, and whenever she wears it I get a little thrill. I've considered making one for myself, but I don't think I could quite pull it off. I do plan to knit myself a hat with a long tail and dinglebobber on the end, because I've always wanted one and now I know how to do it. I've also got scads of great yarn for scarves and socks. I will eventually need to rake these great crunchy leaves, and if I don't catch them before it rains, I will have a not-so-nice kind of rotten leaf smell, but for today, I'm really loving the crunchy red library leaves. No red leaves in my yard. Soon the big maple on the side of the house will turn yellow, brilliant bright yellow, then litter the deck and every square inch of the yard with fat yellow decorations, mingling with the dull brown of the ash and oak who are nearly naked already. I love how that maple just hangs on, green as June until the last breath. It's the last tree in the neighborhood to go. That's what I want for my end, too: to hang on until the last minute, go gold, then just drop.