|(c) John Hudson. Used with permission.|
It’s officially fall now, and the weather is just beginning to cooperate with the calendar here in Georgia. The trees haven’t changed color in full force yet, but the occasional fluttering yellow leaf finds its way onto my lawn, the air is beginning to have a chill at nights, the humidity has dropped, and my blood is already stirring with the desire to write something new.
There’s something about fall that delights the creative self in me. Autumn is a time of transition, a season-long party decorated in golds and oranges and reds and celebrated with bonfires, cider, and festivals. But there’s a darkness to fall, too. The air is getting colder. The days are getting shorter. Wind stirs the trees and whips at my hair and clothes when I venture outside. People tell ghost stories and visit haunted houses.
I love it. The changing weather lights a fire in me—a fire to read, a fire to write. My head is already bursting with stories to tell, and I am hungering for stories to read, too. The world is creating a masterpiece outside, and I ache to join in.
Does the changing of the seasons, autumn in particular, ever give you the urge to read or write more than usual?