Leaves on Palm Trees do not change colors. As much as I adore sun autumn in Southern California proves anti-climatic. The Midwest fall filled me with mixed emotions given the breathtaking brilliance of the dying leaves filling the sky with an array of orange and red foreshadowing snow, ice and frigid air.
Sitting by the pool in 80-degree weather where the seemingly premature sun swallowing my chaise lounge serves as the sole indicator of a season change. I roll over thinking in another half hour I will go home. Two months ago I would have two hours left.
Neither sun nor music eradicates an omnipresent mixture of melancholy and lonesomeness. Compounded by my conversation with my mom. They were on a color tour in Northern Michigan one of the most beautiful places in the country. Leaving me longing for the familiarity of fall…of home.
Taken at Pere Marquette Beach in Muskegon, MI
In addition to the autumnal abstract art filling the skyline, I recall the acorns littering the ground, mom’s fresh apple pie, and sports. I prefer watching the playoffs and World Series in a sweater than a short sleeve shirt. Football in pajamas seems decadent; yet, 8:00 AM is too early to go to a bar.
Hence I lay listless flooded with memories of a life and season two thousand miles away—first my childhood in Michigan then my fifteen years in Chicago—trying to capture the contentment conjured by those people and places.
Perhaps, after nearly a year working seventy-hour workweeks and being isolated, my mind romanticizes the past. Yet, I wonder, “why did I move here and how much longer do I intend to stay?”
Given the economy; I feel trapped though lucky to be employed.
Eureka! in a moment of impulsive brilliance I discover a solution…
…Attend Graduate School.
Smooches!!
The Queen of Alyssaland
WRITING PROMPT:
Crisp apples, picked from the orchard, and brilliant leaves blending into the sunset along the horizon mean autumn has arrived in Michigan.
If you’re in one of the areas of the country still sweltering in summer-like temperatures, perhaps George Eliot can help bring some autumnal memories to the surface:
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive
autumns. ~George Eliot
For you, what does autumn evoke?
Show us in 300 words or less; come back to link-up on Tuesday, October 18th!
I am using the writing prompts to work on my book.