It’s October in Texas and I feel the phantom limb of fall despite the still-hot temperatures, and it aches in a way that feels ancient, a weight containing more than nighttime corn mazes and pumpkin spice lattes and Saturday football games. It’s more than just the fashion of tall boots and cozy sweaters. Even before it begins, fall feels fleeting, a dark undercurrent of the promise of winter, making fall slightly ragged and all the more precious. We’re starting something that will end, but we begin anyway.
There is something in that air – love is too simple a name for it; perhaps it is simply awareness. I love the fall, but it’s a fleetingly contented feeling. The summer is happy, with the sunshine and beaches and lakes and so much more sunshine. The fall reminds me of things that I’ve loved and lost. The love is there, but so is the pain. My heart is so so full. Will it burst? Is the love or loss more powerful? I have more questions than answers.
I suppose I won’t be experiencing much of a winter down here – no piles of snow from the ploughs blinding road’s corners, no good-hearted farmer boys towing cars out from under snow drifts, no skating on real frozen lakes with firepits nearby to thaw you out. No, there is none of that kind of winter and true fall weather won’t make an appearance for another couple of months but is it hardwired in me now? Each morning I open the door surprised by the blast of heat that greets me. Perhaps there is another version of myself in an alternate reality of my life (the simplest choices are life-altering) that is seeping through the cracks.
This is my second fall since I’ve moved back to Texas. The first is lost to memory in a brokenhearted haze, full of painful goodbyes and distracting newness – a new old city, new home, new job, new friends. The seven falls before that were spent in the Midwest, where I saw the leaves change in their dramatic color for the first time in the Ozarks, and something lodged inside of me or perhaps it was already there and drawn to the surface by the crisp, cool air.
The temperature dropped on the official first day of fall – instead of ninety-degree temperatures, sometimes we stay in the eighties, but the change is enough to feel something anchor down inside of me. Is it holding me steady or holding me down? I want I want I want – but what? It’s as if everything unrequited has stormed my heart.
When fall truly arrives in all its sweatered glory, will I find answers for these feelings? Or will the yearnings grow deeper until winter’s fight for survival takes center stage? Are there answers to be found, or is this just a part of the human existence, a deeper consciousness that once a year takes us captive and says, look, feel. Take a moment to see where you came from and where you are now. Any discrepancy is yours to ignore, or if you’re feeling particularly brave, to examine.
LUNCH AT ELEVEN 