When someone asks me
what my favorite season is,
I say fall.
I say I like the vibrant colors
of the leaves
and the colder weather
and the earthy smell that floats
in the air.
I say I like the corn mazes
and pumpkin patches
and how the world seems to be holding
its breath for winter.
But I’m lying.
It’s not all a lie.
I do like fall.
But it’s not my favorite.
My favorite season is not really a season at all.
My favorite season is the space between the seasons.
The space of change,
of excitement.
When it’s not quite summer,
but it’s not quite fall.
The forward motion.
My favorite season is when
the long hot days start to become
shorter,
chillier,
when leaves begin to change
and the corn grows tall.
My favorite season is when
the crisp afternoons give way
to flutters in the night,
when the mornings are covered
in glittering frost
and the afternoons
in pale sunlight.
My favorite season is when
grass starts to peak
out of the snow,
when the air is filled
with the growing sense
of abundant life.
My favorite season is when
jackets in the morning give way to
shorts in the evening,
when the shy sun becomes
outgoing.
My favorite season is the one of change.
It’s the one that feels shiny
and new
every time.
It’s the one where
I don’t know
what will happen,
because anything
can happen
in the space between the seasons.