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There's something about autumn. It's gorgeous, mysterious, spooky, and magical all at once. It conjures up thoughts of trees ablaze in red, gold, yellow, and orange, of Halloween ghosts and goblins, harvests of apples, pumpkins, and winter squash, of simmering soups and hearty stews, the swish of leaves underfoot, and crisp, tangy air. Yet it has a tinge of sadness as well. The year is dying. That lovely, slightly fruity scent in the air is created by the decay of leaves and vegetation. For many of us in New England, autumn is bittersweet. It is stunningly beautiful, but also the harbinger of the long, cold winter that's surely on its way.
Autumn is a special time of year for me. Each of its months brings a different emotion. In September, I mourn the loss of summer's warmth and freedom. By October, I've usually made my peace with summer's departure, and I'm ready to embrace autumn in all its beauty and bounty. And in November, I'm consumed with the coming holidays.
The high point in my current work-in-progress takes place in a Vermont October. Working all of that month's enchantments into the story is both challenging and rewarding. Since I am close to that point in the writing now, at least I won't have far to look for inspiration. A glimpse outside my window will do.
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