But last week it rained and the Gulf wind was beaten back by a strong front from the north. Today the leaves on our maple started jumping off the tree, turning the ground yellow. The cypress is dumping blankets of rusty brown and the oaks in the front yard are thump-thumping the roof with acorns and making a mess of the driveway because the squirrels can’t keep up.
I can’t keep up with Daniel. He’s busy as…a squirrel in autumn? Since the weather cooled off, he has torn the deck apart so the foundation repair guys could get to the house, taken down his summer shade tarps, repaired some of our cedar siding, redone the roof over the Jack-and-Jill bath, tracked Sheetrock dust all over the carpet and kept me busy sweeping cypress needles out of the kitchen and atrium.
Is it practicality that causes my husband to start fixing things? Or is it survival instinct?
Cool weather makes me want to cook soups. And bake. I’m not sure what makes me want to turn the oven on. Maybe gray skies and yellow leaves trigger some hormone production that says, “Make heat.”
There’s also this weird urge to scribble poetry. Not that I’m very accomplished at it, but my best pieces have all been written from October through December. Is that hormonal too, I wonder?
Perhaps this is something our Creator put in us. The planting and harvesting is winding down, wild game is plentiful, wood is cut and stacked, preserved food is put away and now it’s time to settle down in our snug rugs, sip hot cider and read a book. Or write one.
Maybe I’ll write some lyrics for a Kenny G song. That would be like poetry plus!
Ah, thank you, Lord, for music that transcends language and for this yellow month of warm fires, falling leaves and poetic thought.