Just ten days ago I was sunning myself at Rehoboth Beach in Delaware, my 40-plus-years-old beach chair firmly positioned in the sand beneath me, with my 70-plus-years-old feet just barely touching the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. This morning, I sit at my computer, wrapped in a flannel robe, with my naked tootsies resting on the carpet. What’s changed? I haven’t grown that much older, but something’s different. I’ve begun waking earlier; there’s an impatience to my step; a sense of urgency that underlies my actions.
Fall is here. It officially crept over the transom and into my basement two days ago at 10:21 AM, as I sat quietly in my recliner holding my cat in my lap, watching the morning news. I don’t recall hearing about its occurrrence on TV, nor did I read about it on Yahoo. It just kind of happened, that’s all. But I knew it was here. I always do.
The first sign that the Autumnal Equinox had arrived was the abundance of leaves on my back deck the other morning. It was almost as if someone had dropped a bushel basket full onto the redwood painted planking from high above. And I guess He did. The second thing that alerted me to the change was a niggling impulse to wash and wax Becky’s car that same day. Granted, it was filthy from the recent vacation trip to Delaware, but it’s been dirty before without my feeling compelled to clean it. I completed the task in an almost zombie-like state, moving steadly about the driveway, first with hose in hand, then with a plastic bottle full of cleaner/wax and a polishing cloth to buff the paint to a mirror-like finish. I was a man on a mission.
Yesterday, I cleaned out my garage and tidied up the back room in my basement, cutting up cardboard boxes and rearranging items in the storage bins. This morning, I awoke with a renewed sense of purpose and rushed downstairs to compose my blog (something that had grown more difficult in recent weeks). Later, Becky and I have plans to visit nearby Dupont Forest for a hike. Why? Because it’s fall, and that’s what we do when late September shortens the days and reminds us not to waste a minute of the precious time we have left of our God given lives.
In spring, we are urged to smell the roses. The same can be said for fall, only it’s not the scent of flowers we are compelled to inhale, but the comforting aroma of decaying leaves that tickles our noses and causes many of us to sneeze. Soon, based upon some arcane legislation originally designed to aid farmers pursue their livelihood, we’ll “fall back,” and theoretically gain an hour. But don’t be fooled. It’s just a canard. Use that imaginary extra hour. Do something worthwhile. Take a walk. Rake your lawn. Smell the leaves. It’s fall—in more ways than we like to admit for some of us.
So what are you waitng for? Get moving. Each day is a gift. And I intend to use every damned minute of this one!