It's this year's first full day of Autumn!

Today is the first full day of Autumn this year. Yesterday's Equinox occurred at 2:50 am CDT, not at midnight. Before yesterday, we enjoyed meteorological, but not astronomical Autumn. Today we have all three requisite ingredients for the first time. I just pulled out of the baking pantry a package of maple oats (with Vermont maple sugar) scones. I'll try to get them baked Sunday morning, unless an improved option becomes available.

a field of pumpkins

Photo by J. Harrington

Do you think it's too early to start shopping for pumpkins? I don't, but I also realize there's plenty of time to find just the right ones. Speaking of too early, I got a flu shot this morning. That's the earliest I can ever remember getting one. The report on the morning news is that flu season is starting early this year. Don't say we didn't try to warn you. With today's weather feeling much more like late Summer than early Autumn, it does feel very strange to have taken care of that seasonal chore. Do you suppose we'll see and feel another Summerish day this year, or is today the end of warm weather for this year?

a fancy carved pumpkin

Photo by J. Harrington

It'll be about a month before we carve Jack-O-Lanterns from any pumpkins we get. That was more fun before we again became empty nesters. Maybe this year it's time for me to break down and get a fancy carving kit and actually enjoy a fourth or fifth childhood. (I've lost count.) As of last year, we've yet to have a local trick or treater show up at the house. It might be different this year since we've had the first door-knockers for school fund raising a couple of nights ago. We'll see. Being optimistic presents a wonderful opportunity to stock up on some candies, "just in case." I guarantee it won't go to waste even if no one comes to the door.

Poem Beginning with a Line from
It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown

Maggie Smith

Just look—nothing but sincerity 
as far as the eye can see—
the way the changed leaves,

flapping their yellow underbellies
in the wind, glitter. The tree
looks sequined wherever

the sun touches. Does anyone
not see it? Driving by a field
of spray-painted sheep, I think

the world is not all changed.
The air still ruffles wool
the way a mother’s hand

busies itself lovingly in the hair
of her small boy. The sun
lifts itself up, grows heavy

treading there, then lets itself
off the hook. Just look at it
leaving—the sky a tigereye

banded five kinds of gold
and bronze—and the sequin tree
shaking its spangles like a girl

on the high school drill team,
nothing but sincerity. It glitters
whether we’re looking or not.

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