I’m not sure that Fall is my favorite season, but it brings one of my favorite memories.
I grew up in a small college town. I remember walking to school the first term of my freshman year. It was sunny and warm. The leaves rustled around my feet. The skirt of a brown print Aileen dress (straight from the pages of Seventeen Magazine) lightly bounced with each step. Kicking at the leaves on the sidewalk I sniffed the smoke in the air and was elated. Life was good. I was carrying my books to college on a sparkling autumn day. I was joyful.
This memory visits me each fall. Only now have I named the feeling. “Joyful” wasn’t a word in 1950’s vocabulary.
It’s strange that I have “enjoyed” many things, but the times I have been joyful stand out. I am sad to be able to count the times I have felt it when I have so much to create joy in my life.
Sitting here at my computer I have thoughts that give me joy. Visions of moments and people in my life push that feeling into my throat as a smile comes to my face. The mere idea of my children and grandchildren sends me to a blissful place. My garden thrills me. Music definitely provides the soundtrack. As I type, visions of moments and people appear and I am smiling.
It is all here in my life. So I want to pay attention. I’m going to live with the moments that come to me and breathe in and out with the joy. I want to let it bubble up and fill me instead of moving too fast for it.
The next time you see me I may hug you too hard or gaze at you too long. I may pause on our walk: listening and watching. Or I may be the quiet one in the room, just observing. That will be me: living with my joy.