It is that time of the year again, the sound of the wind is picking up the pace and feels heavier. The moment it touches my ear, I can sense the approaching ice-cold numbing. I am standing on the second floor and glancing at the Maple tree in my front yard that grew a few feet since we moved to this house. In the last few years, the tree augmented by the size it possessed 10 years ago, flaunting its new branches and attractively carved leaves. The view of the front street has been shielded by the substantial dimensions. The vigorous roots have begun to burgeon and are distinctly visible.
The swift gust of freezing wind mixed with rain one day and bright and warm sunny day on the other has compelled the leaves to lose its tint but not the charm. The process is vital to the season, the leaves soon turn from green to yellow, orange, and even red. The pungent smell of pumpkins, cinnamon, and cloves combined with yellow and orange blooms overtake the smell of grass and soil, red and the pink of summer. There is a sense of loaded apple trees, pie, and hot cider. The spectacle of Pumpkin patches and the smell of fresh hay.
Halloween decors and grey skies drizzle in the morning and thunder at night. Tornado warnings and daily changing weather forecasts. Shorter days and black skies, early nights, and brighter mornings. Class schedules and puddles, rain boots, and wind sheeters. The Fall to me is something else. The streets full of trees with leaves turned golden yellow, the mountain with a panoramic view of the polychromatic landscape.
The leaves have lost the tag and are now ready to drop out of the branches, just like the soul goes through trauma, happiness, and several occasions before leaving Earth. It has now fallen on the ground, maintaining the same hue and intriguing kids to roll their bodies on the pile of dried leaves. Only the heads are now observable, and the rest of the body has now camouflaged.
Mother Nature brings another lesson to mankind that no matter how many winds, rain or shine come, the leaves shed, and trees go barren, the tree will still stand tall bracing the upcoming frosty winter and rise itself in spring as Jesus rose back from dead on Easter.
I love the fall season and why wouldn't the time when I and my son celebrate our birthdays. The smell of rose sticks burning in the temple and the smell of rose sticks burning in the temple, the aroma of freshly made sweets and curries. The weather outside may be gloomy, with bone-chilling air and dark skies but inside I can only think about the upcoming festivals. It's fall season where loads of Indian festivals are around the corner.
The smell of incense burning in front of the idol, the fragrance of marigold flowers and mango leaves needled in a garland and showcased on the main door. Long and colorful skirts with matching blouses and shimmering stoles, bodies wrapped in six yards of glittering fabric, the sounds of the clicking sticks and bare feet dancing for hours on cultural tunes, this is the time of the year to have a ball. The time of the year when there is something to be celebrated every few days.
The plan is to fill the house with waxed and oiled lamps and burn incense sticks in various parts of the house. . It takes me back to the festivities back home where the mother will cook the festive delicacies and chant prayers, the lip-smacking desserts and fried pancakes still bring a sensation to my growling tummy. Oh, how I miss the fall festivities and twinkling lights in the neighborhood! It was like Christmas time in my country where the neighbors seemed to be competing whose decorations came out the best. Its the time, where families gathered, students booked the train tickets months in advance and happy couples get reunited with the parents. Its the time when grandparents get ample time to teach old skills to their beloved grandkids and go through their childhood all over once again through the interesting stories.
It's fall again, let's hook ourselves to a hot cup of coffee and hope for the better days ahead!