bring me fall
I want to see fall outside my car window. The evenly cut fields of sturdy stalks following the contours of the land. The lowering slope of golden sunlight casting long, lean shadows. The dust in the air from grain threshed by the combine and the dirt ground into my husband’s hands, under his nails and collected in the creases of his eyes.
I want to see fall on the coast. The shimmering gold, wet leaves clinging to darkened pavement. The crisp air. The green grass, relieved after southern Vancouver Island’s desert summer. I want to kick fallen chestnuts down the sidewalk. I want the pears and plums. The pies and spices. The tough arbutus leaves and the bumping of the logs. Bull kelp. Cold water.
I want to see the hills of Kentucky, where the days of September and October still feel as hot as a summer day in the Canadian prairies. And when evening comes early to the holler after the sun slides below the pines I reach for a sweater. Move closer to the fire and listen to the picking. Where I have to ask a friend to repeat what they just said because I missed a word. Or where I bob along in the cadence of a local, grasping at occasional words that are landmarks in a flow of conversation that is friendly but not comprehended thanks to the wonderful dialect of the Appalachia. I want the drape of kudzu vines and sips of moonshine. Ditch weed and Ale 8.
I want borscht. Ripe tomatoes. Rhubarb. Zucchini loaf. Back to school. Crunching leaves. Leather boots. Knitted caps. Honeyed tea in travel mugs and fingerless gloves.
Bring me fall.
October 5
Grand Theatre
Indian Head, SK
with Lachlan Neville
Presented by Indian Head Theatre & Community Arts
tickets
December 7
Regina Symphony Orchestra Christmas Special
Conexus Arts Centre
Regina, SK
tickets
I've been lucky enough to see fall in many parts of Canada, but my favourite is on Mont Royal in Montreal, where I used to walk as a McGill student, even roll in the piles of leaves—at least until October 1970 when my tumbling was interrupted by Canadian troops on a machine gun equipped jeep. Unbeknownst to me, I was just above the street where the British diplomat, James Cross, had been kidnapped, leading off what became known as the October Crisis.. We agreed I should move on, which I did—at least until the next year.
I enjoy your writing and singing, have "Notes from a Waitress." Take care.
Hello, talented “Belle Plaine”
Your writing intrigues me. It causes me to re-read passages to enjoy the effect of the words.
Keep writing
and singing
Sheila