Reading this reminder me of an article I read about how all the faces we see in our dreams are faces we’ve seen before. Our minds don’t make up new ones, so a stranger in a dream has the face of someone you’ve at least met in passing. The leaves in the park are the faces I’ve known but no longer know. They dance and float around as I pass through in silence, head down and dreaming … No Ghost in These Machines
I feel like I’ve spent the last few months in a heat induced haze literally and figuratively. The Carolinas languished in a sweltering heat bubble, becoming so hot and humid I abandoned many outdoor plans this summer. I also got a new job within the company I work for, as a corporate debt collector. Don’t wince for me, I actually like it! But it has come with new pressures and expectations, and I had to take a few months off from writing while I adjusted. Yesterday fall arrived, ushering in lower temperatures and a much more preferable air quality. I celebrated with apple picking. I’m determined to venture out of my house for more excursions. I’m also determined to get back into posting on here regularly. I can’t maintain the same pace as before, but my goal is three days a week, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Ideally, this will allow me to post and read other blogs regularly.
I really had fun coming up with prompts to go along with my harvest mood board last month, so I decided continue to create a list of prompts for the first Wednesday of every month. September is all about the official start of fall, but for me, also the start of the school year. Students may have resumed studies weeks ago here in North Carolina, but when I was in school years ago in Massachusetts, school wasn’t in full swing until the week after Labor Day. Autumn Writing Prompts Smoky lavender skiesThe scent of weather turningMisty rainMushroom bloomsAn orchard of crooked treesScarlet foliageLeaves crunching underfootA breeze sneaking under a tweed jacketSteam curling over teacupsWhispers in the library
Every year I make a point to go apple picking. Partially for the apples, but mostly out of a desire to recreate a little piece of my childhood. It’s the smell that I’m really looking for. The scent of fallen fruit fermenting on the ground, mixed with trampled grass and fresh air. It always transports me right back to the early Octobers of my adolescence, when every year my family picked apples in an orchard a few minutes from our home. My sisters, parents, grandparents, and I combed through the trees, looking for the ripest ones. The orchard had different varieties organized by row and color coded, and this is how I learned which ones were best for cooking, tastiest to snack on, or bruised the easiest. When I entered my freshman year of high school we learned that the orchard had been sold to a developer who would turn it into a subdivision of cookie cutter McMansions. The news was more saddening then I expected. A yearly tradition, just gone. Years later when I was home visiting from college, I drove …