Autumnal August, Part I

Almost every year since I moved to the East Coast, I’ve spent most of August wishing for autumn. I love the cool, crisp breezes and the beauty of the fiery trees in their crimson and gold splendor. August in the mid-Atlantic is usually summer at its worst, oppressively hot and unbearably humid. Just the thought of fresh air is heaven on earth. Every inch of your being begs for change.

But this year has been different, weather-wise and otherwise. Today is the perfect example. A thick overcast ruled all day, blessing us with intermittent cool showers. I don’t think it even hit 70. In short, pretty much my favorite weather. (Yes, sometimes I too think I should live in Seattle.) I ran by the ATM this afternoon and just had to stop for a chai, my traditional September-through-November caffeinated beverage of choice. I felt incomplete without it.

A chai craving has not been the only harbinger of fall. As we were driving around this weekend, helping in two separate friends’ moves, I spotted a few bright red leaves hiding in the fading green of Northern Virginia’s forests. The sight roused hopes of a long, meandering fall that changed the leaves in early September, but didn’t get cold so fast as to force the leaves off till early November or so. We’ll see whether that particular aspiration is realized.

But as the seasons change this year, even more is changing for me. Probably the biggest changes since I moved away from home seven years ago. And those realities have, in some ways, made me secretly wish that summer would not end and the leaves would not turn. I think God orchestrated all these changes at this time of year, in part, to ease the process a little. He knows I require gentle handling. So when I’m moving the umpteenth box of dishes into my new little home and fretting about how I’m going to keep said dishes clean since this charming little place has no dishwasher, I will step on a little pile of autumnal leaves and remember His faithfulness. And when Ashley gets here a week before Sarah’s wedding, we’ll be able to walk through Eastern Market together in our light jackets and enjoy a cup of coffee or cider.

These golden moments are the grace that will carry me through the next few weeks. Already, boxes litter the house, and superfluous furniture to boot. Plus a ton of wedding stuff. (At least it’s not tulleing.) Invitation responses pour in the door daily and remind me that the long-anticipated theoretical is, in fact, an imminent reality. The knowledge that once Em and I set up shop in the new place, attention will turn to moving Sarah and Peter out of our current place, which means the Alexandria girls and our familiar digs – I know our place by heart – will be no more. Meanwhile, in a few days one of my best friends from college is moving her family to Charleston, which, last time I checked, is not nearly as close as Purcellville or even West Virginia (her last two residences). To top it all off – since everything must be in a fluid state – it is a big, big election year. And I’ve been so busy trying to not be overwhelmed by my personal changes that I haven’t even bothered contemplating possible professional changes.

For someone who hates change – to the point of making those people who literally dig in their heels look compliant – sometimes I wonder why I love autumn so much.