By: Tanya Ward Goodman
It’s October already. No frost on the pumpkin here in Los Angeles, but a detectable crisp quality to the night air and a conspicuous torrent of orange and black merchandise at the grocery store.
On this third day of October, I do not choose to buy a plush ghost or a five-pound bag of mini candy bars. I do not invest in fake spider webs, fangs, blood, or severed fingers. Instead, I fill a bag with late season plums and the first of autumn’s bounty of apples.
In celebration of this season of gold and rust and fallen leaf, I chop butternut squash and sauté it for lasagna. (Even the word butternut is in keeping with my determinedly autumnal mood.)
I open all the doors and windows and let the coolness of the evening sweep into my house. No matter that I wear a sleeveless blouse; that my son is still in shorts. No matter that the temperatures may soar many times between today and winter, that my woolen sweaters are still months away from their short rotation. Today, I feel like Fall. I feel nostalgic and ready for pie. I feel thankful for my family and the food on my table. I feel warm and a little sleepy as though hibernation were just around the corner.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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