Fall is the season of new beginnings. For me, that has always been the case, starting back in childhood when the season brought release from the long hot summer days…and the endless chores. Living on a farm was like being on a treadmill of continuous chores.
Above is a photo of my second son and his daughter Aubrey, years ago when I still lived in my house in the foothills. This snap was captured at Thanksgiving. Aubrey is now in college, so you get the sense of the passage of time.
In the background, note the climbing device…my youngest son built that, and the grandchildren all clamored to it.
In my first published book, An Accidental Life, one of my characters lives in an A-frame house with a guest house next door. Like mine. Here’s an excerpt:
Autumn slipped toward winter, its days beginning with that hideous, low-hanging fog that characterized this part of the valley. But Melody woke in the mornings feeling something akin to happiness. Taking her large mug of coffee over near the tall side windows, where she had set up a little table and wicker chair, she would spread out the newspaper. Reading, sipping her coffee, and occasionally glancing toward the guesthouse, waiting for the first sign of Hugh so she could invent some excuse to saunter on over.
Since their first encounter a few months back, the two of them had established a more or less regular routine. One or the other would initiate contact, they would chat for a bit, and then they would end up in bed. Melody still felt wonder when she reflected on their moments together. What an unlikely pairing they were.
She felt the heat rising in her face as her thoughts raced backward and she quickly fanned herself with the front page of the paper. Despite all the passion the two of them generated, however, she sometimes walked away afterwards wondering who Hugh Kincaid really was…They never really talked about anything substantive. Oh, they had shared the superficial biographical sketches. He knew that she had been in Haight-Ashbury in the sixties and on the road for awhile in the seventies. He knew about the trust fund that had brought her this house. She knew that he’d retired from a state job as an engineer, that he loved photography as art, and that he had been married once…But had no children.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to focus on the newspaper. Her thoughts refused to cooperate, continuing instead to ramble in Hugh’s direction. She realized that she wanted to know more. And she was even willing to share more of herself. The realization surprised and worried her at the same time. What did it mean?
What does Fall bring to you? Family moments? New beginnings?