Fall

When I was little I use to hate fall. Not the time of year, I have always had a love for pumpkins and Halloween, bonfires and cider, but the season. Fall seemed dead to me. I always saw the brown grass and thought it was so much prettier when it was green and alive. I would see pictures that artists would paint of wheat fields with pheasants flying in the gray sky and I would always wonder "who would hang that in their house?" Maybe it is because when your little you draw trees with green leaves and a blue sky with fluffy white clouds and red flowers on the ground, and that is how pretty was suppose to be.



Now I see Fall as something very different. I see all the seasons very different. I see fall as an old man resting from a long years worth of work in the dirt, with his mud caked boots propped up on his tackle box. His face covered in deep wrinkles and a piece of wheat hanging from his lips. He is anything but dead and ugly. He's alive and ornery, waiting behind closed eyes to spring to life and scare the skin right off you. He has a quick wit and a sparkle to his eye. A sparkle that brings so much warmth and light that it warms you to your soul and heals any hurt. Fall and I have had many mornings, evenings, moments and hours this season to get acquainted. I love Fall. Tonight Ella and I are going to color a picture, it is going to have a tree with orange leaves, a purple sky with fiery pink clouds, and brown leaves covering the ground. Its going to be pretty.