After I dipped my Fuji Apple in Caramel at lunch time, I returned to work and finished the Coconut Crème Pie that was leftover from my birthday.
I cringed when the afternoon sun cast my shadow across the parking lot. Ouch. Shade in the summer, heat in the winter.
Speaking of heat in the winter…we purchased a cord of wood last week in anticipation of some cool autumn evenings around the fireplace. Instead, we opened the doors every evening this week. Indian Summer.
Several times I’ve heard the cry of a Night Hawk and glimpsed it’s graceful pursuit of insects by the light of the street lamp. Maybe the cold front moving in will encourage him to begin his migration. I hope he doesn’t have to travel through southern
Tonight it might freeze. If it does, our yellows, oranges, and reds will turn to winter brown. Apparently, the length of the night has equal influence on the hues that paint the deciduous trees. I always thought it was the frost.
I remember studying about photosynthesis when I was in high school. That was many fall seasons ago. If I close my eyes, I can remember the smell of chalkboards and floor wax. The fall weather confused the heating system, so, by early afternoon the classrooms would be uncomfortably warm. If the teacher was boring, that after lunch class was a real head jerker.
I would wrap my morning sweater around my waist and stroll the 2 miles home. Then, mom warned me away from opening the outside door to the kitchen. She didn’t want any temperature change to influence the sealing process in the pears, her last fruit canning of the season. The house smelled of boiling sugar syrup mixed with the fumes from bleach water. Mom always scalded and sanitized her ‘mason’ jars. Once removed from the boiling water bath, the jars of fruit lined counters and tabletops. I kept track of the telltale pops as they sealed. If the numbers didn’t match up, Mom tapped the lids with her fingernail and listened for a certain resonance.
Freshly canned fruit was a wonderful treat with my bowl of Ruskets for breakfast. (*Ruskets was a cereal that came shaped like a biscuit of pressed wheat flakes.)
As much as I love fall, I think it’s the time of year I miss my mother most of all.