Fall is here. This season that has become familiar to me was once wildly new and invigorating. My ignorance made this experience so unspeakably exciting – not my ignorance of fall, but my ignorance of what would overtake fall.

The earth knows what’s coming. As the air grows cooler the landscape protests, holding brightly colored banners against the impending invasion of  white and gray snow clouds.

Trees raise their weapons high, holding back the cold. Defenders stand unmoved and determined. Just when our eyes can take no more of the visual onslaught, the trees push their protest into a crescendo of color. The landscape explodes with the terrible tints of war – fiery reds and yellows and oranges. This is the heightened peak of battle.

In this season, in this moment, we close our eyes to the fight before us. We esteem the colors of fall as if they are victorious – as if no disaster will overtake them. We celebrate. We hold festivals. Carve pumpkins. Pick apples. Walk in a rainbow of leaves.

Now, as the last trace of summer sun rests it’s head on the horizon, a determined chill bullies away rain frogs and night crawlers alike. Even thunderclouds are silenced as they escaped the coming storms. Once again, old man winter wins. In just a few short months, the cycle of life must give way to his power. He won’t hold back. Soon, he will blow in, mercilessly stripping the landscape bear of battle array. Leaving the ground colored by the casualties of war.  The trees will have no choice but to surrender.

If you watch closely, you will see that between festival and celebration, we have given up the fight. We know the battle, though freshly begun, is already over. Just as rabbits and reptiles seek out shelter, foxholes and dens safely below the surface, we begin the burrowing process as well. Adding layers – adding blankets – adding firewood. Preparing to wait out the long cold winter before us.

This is New England.

This is my New England.

This is my new home.