For the past few years fall has slowly been edging its way into being my favorite season. Hypothesizing, I think that it started once summer vacations ended. When there is no break in the summer, and you can take a vacation anytime of the year you want, what’s really to love about sweltering heat, sweating, and sunburns? Not much, say I. It was then that I realized I loved fall more, not for the benefits it gave me, but just because. Because I can order my apple cider from Starbucks without being glared at. (Yes, I want apple cider in July. Bite me, barista). Because there are three holidays to decorate for in the span of three months. Sweaters. Football. Beautiful falling leaves. And now, you.
If ever I needed a reason to love fall wee one, you are it. You aren’t supposed to be here until the very end of November, right after Thanksgiving. Papa says you won’t make your appearance until December, and that’s fine by me. Either way, you will be a fall baby. I hope you are like a bright orange or red maple leaf, one that has hung around longer than expected, the last one standing. I hope you stay in there cooking until you are so vibrant and bold that I just can’t contain your beauty anymore, just like the tree can only hold onto its leaves for so long. And so as I wait for the leaves to turn and the chill to move back in, what I am really waiting for, what I’ve always been waiting for, what I wake up and fall asleep thinking about, is you.