Cindy Lange-Kubick: Autumn offers a rich pageant

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I know autumn is coming because they’re baking pumpkin cookies again at the Cookie Company.

And the sumac is starting to turn.

And I’m not as hungry for watermelon as I was in August.

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And there’s nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon.

Oh. Yeah. Except watch football.

I know autumn is coming because the light is creeping out of my evenings. And some mornings, dew has crept onto my windshield.

And moths are hiding in the corners of my bathroom when I get up.

I’ve always had a thing for autumn, as long as someone else did the raking.

Even with the controversy over the pilgrims and their alleged sharing, I still look forward to November and counting my blessings, as the land turns golden and glowing.

I like the way words go together this time of year.

Jacket weather.

Harvest moon.

Trick or treat.

Yellow dot sale.

I like autumn clothes and the way leaves sound beneath a bicycle wheel and coming across chrysanthemums in frontyard gardens, fall’s floral cheerleaders.

I like chrysanthemums because they remind me of my granny who died 20 Octobers ago and planted her garden in purple and yellow pompons.

I like the way things start again in the fall. School. Bowling leagues. Midget football. Cribbage at the VFW on Thursday nights.

And I like the way things end. Swimming. Lawn mowing. Mosquitoes. Sunburns.

I like that we get to start over again in the fall.

That we can still dream of perfect report cards and promise ourselves that things will slow down now that summer and vacations are over. That now we will have time to get organized, get serious, get busy.

Settle down.

I got married on a perfect autumn day.

I had a September baby.

And an October baby, too, pushed into the world during the first game of the ’82 World Series.

Don’t ask which inning.

I like the way the sun softens this time of year, and the allure of the new TV season and the way acorns fall.

I like windows wanting to open and children wanting to squeeze out the last of the day before dark.

And the color of pumpkins.

And crickets.

And helicopter seeds from silver maples spiraling to the ground, a sidewalk lesson in aerodynamics.

I like unwrapping the plastic witch my husband had as a boy and putting it on the piano, and buying tiny Baby Ruth bars and watching the city turn into a quilt of color.

I like looking at the maple tree in my mother-in-law’s frontyard and watching the burning bush in my own as they magically turn, then waiting for the red and orange teardrops to rain down and carpet the grass.

I like putting away tank tops and getting out jean jackets.

I like the promise of apples, the way they smell and crunch and taste, and the road to Nebraska City and goldenrod in the ditches.

I like the drying cornstalks that nod along county roads.

The whisper of dying prairie grass.

Candy corn I could live without. But caramel apples? Never.

I like transitions, the space between things, pauses, the way the earth makes room for a new season, turning the blaze of summer into the comfort of fall.

I like comfort.

And it gives me comfort to know fall is coming.

That it is almost here.

Once again.

Ours.

Reach Cindy Lange-Kubick at 473-7218 or clangekubick@journalstar.com.