Red River

There was no mistaking the full onset of autumn. Dog walks now required a light jacket in the early morning. Cottonwoods were the first to drop crunchy leaves as the angle of the sun declined and days shortened. Maples gradually followed, and then oaks obliged. Menus began to feature pumpkin spice in all the usual recipes, and some that made little sense at all. Pools closed after one last hurrah over Labor Day weekend, which proved too cool this year to attract many swimmers. But the finality of it, and thoughts of the inevitable heat wave that would benefit from a cooling dip in early October demoralized the kids as they trudged off to school. For goodness sakes, Christmas decorations were on display at the local big box stores. It would soon be time to worry about the first frost and the possibility of snow.

Abby grabbed the girls’ hands and escorted them to the side of the road. She had been avoiding small messes all weekend, beginning with a fall festival on Saturday, a sticky wonder highlighted by candy apples and pumpkin carving, accompanied by cheap paper napkins that shredded and balled up long before they provided their needed value. The cool and cloudy day had threatened rain but remained dry through the afternoon. It was a blessing that avoided a muddy mess along the trails of the nature preserve, where s’mores were being prepared and vats of boiling cider steamed. Acrid wood smoke fires infused the air deliciously, and nature’s sweet essence permeated the resulting fog. Wet wipes from Abby’s purse bridged the gap between failed napkins and a thorough face washing back at the house.

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