The Space Between the Seasons

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.