Autunno
Michigan is weather. The seasons change in cyclic sweeping grandeur. Summer to fall, the air cools and leaves become startling fire, oranges and yellows and crimsons burn the forest until the trees are leafless and the ground heavy in their decay. Eventually there comes frost and all life left is life no more or dormant in long sleep. Grey settles the land, then white, then the vernal greens. Michigan can be counted on for her seasons.
In the Mediterranean I am lost for summer kills and fall regrows. The ground is green again in lush grass, yellow flowers and purples are making their come back. But yellow light is cast and shadows deepen, the pungent smell of earth decay is strong in my nose, fires are burning somewhere, I smell the smoke and the ash. Leaves are withering in their dull tans and browns, two crimson trees stand in a pair and flaming. It is a different kind of fall here.
I know the rains will come soon and the lovely temperature is bound to drop; the sun will loose its strength and the shadows will make me shiver. I do not think it’s a lesser fall, by any means, but one my natural Michigan barometer can not explain. I like it though and it smells good. The light is calm and tempting. No need to hurry inside yet, let linger the blessed fall.
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