October’s irresistibly glorious glow
In terms of the best things that ever happened to me, I have four favorite months: July, October, March, and February. Those are the months—in order—that each of my children was born. One for every season.
But when it comes to month-related favoritism apart from the births of my children, October wins overall. Anne of Green Gables said, “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” and every year at this time I am reminded of why I share that sentiment.
In the last week, true relief from the oppressive heat of summer arrived, along with the bald eagles. Autumn’s first and hardest hue to hold gilds the edges of the hills across the river. My brother delivered a pile of pumpkins from his patch to my porch. And my kids and I got our tubs of ceramic Jack o’ Lanterns out of the attic, arranged them around the house, and illuminated them with candles that smell like apple cobbler.
Each one has a different face. They are all sizes, purchased at War Eagle Fair from my favorite booth throughout the years. We are gearing up for that this weekend. The girls in my family from the grannies all the way down to the babies in strollers have been going to War Eagle since I was 6 years old, another beloved October tradition.
I don’t even like pumpkin pie or pumpkin rolls or anything pumpkin, to tell the truth, but coffee from pods with pumpkin spice flavored espresso and a splash of hazelnut syrup are an exception this month. And when my friend delivered pumpkin snickerdoodles with brown butter, I ate one warm. I will make pumpkin bread at some point because Harper likes it. Pumpkin stuff just hits different when one is Octobering.
October is that month when the world seems to stop spinning on its axis and beauty has its moment just to be. The flowers in my yard that survived August and September without burning up seem to raise their heads in benediction. Their color pops, vivid against the grayer landscape like the turning of the leaves.
Long walks in the woods are exquisite. Summer’s raging allergens abate. The temperature is not too hot, not too cold, but just right. The dogs skip rather than trudge as they did through the heat. The air is crisp, perfect for driving with the windows down. Football weather is finally here. It gets darker earlier, but not too early. And the sun still appears at a decent time in the morning.
The only problem I have with October in Arkansas is that it ends. And unlike things we hope and dream might last forever, we know that every October, winter is coming. It is as every other impermanent, beautiful thing. Like Robert Frost said: Nothing gold can stay.
And this awareness, that it will go away, gives October its ache. I find that I have to will myself even more than usual to stay in the moment. If I don’t, I will miss my chance at the miracle, the magic, and that would be a tragedy. October ends, but first it opens its arms to us and brings us into its bosom. It is paradise to rest against its beating heart—even for a moment— surrounded by splendor.
Another thing about October, so closely akin to its invitation to embrace the grandeur it offers, is the example it gives us of how to let things go. And not just ugly things. More poignant, I think, is that October lets go of beautiful things when it is time.
October knows, somehow. The trees don’t hold on when leaves are ready to fall. They don’t cling to them or clasp them tightly or try to hold them back. They just let go. Bless and release. In fact, it is another of my favorite sights in October when a soft breath of wind catches leaves up in a whirl and they dance together before they fly on their way. They are not sad.
It’s the same with a sunset. The sun knows its job is done for the day and it retires. Slides down the horizon in its time. Like the closing of an eye. No setting the sky on fire. No fight. Just a peaceful fade, sometimes with radiant colors. There is acceptance in October. Acceptance of what is. And no fear of what is to come.
Perhaps it is fitting that the next month is, in our American tradition at least, a time for gratitude. Gratitude lifts us out of a posture of mourning what is lost and ushers us into appreciation. That is where I am headed. Like a tree, I will draw from deep roots and find nourishment through the winter as buds of hope begin to build again.
But no rush. October is not over yet.