I don’t know if it’s the selective memory of childhood, but it seems to me that when I was a kid, fall lasted much longer than it has the past several years. Now, I realize that time seems to pass much slower when you’re a kid, when you’re not weighed down with the obligations of adulthood and the days, weeks, and months become a blur. Plus, proportionately, a month is a much larger chunk of your life when you’re ten, as opposed to when you’re thirty-seven.
But as I delight in the panoramic view out my office window–not that I’m not complaining about the view, mind you; in fact, I’m still reeling in disbelief that I even have an office as opposed to a cubicle. And as for an office with a window…of course, an added bonus.
Where was I?
Oh, missing fall.
Out my window, I can only see a single tree bearing leaves that have changed. It seems to me that two weeks before Halloween, more trees should be ablaze with the fiery reds, oranges, and golds that I eagerly anticipate as each year begins to draw to a close.
I imagine fall seeming to arrive so late has something to do with the unseasonably warm temperatures we’ve been experiencing in Illinois lately–though I’m reluctant to pin the blame directly on global warming (though I’m not dismissing that explanation, either).
Autumn is my favorite season of the year, yet it seems the shortest–though perhaps that’s why; maybe we better appreciate the more fleeting moments of our lives because they don’t last long enough for us to take them for granted.