The Two Images of Fall

I know it’s autumn. Unfortunately, in Southern California the tell tale signs of the season are not the glorious reds and oranges of my child hood. Well, the colors may actually be the same, but the glowing flames of a brush fire jumping the freeway and the majestic, throbbing reds of a maple tree are no comparison. So while breathing in the ash and smoke of yet another fire and reassuring my mom over the phone that “We’re fine,” I can’t help but be homesick for a real fall. One that goes beyond fires and Santa Ana winds, or even pumpkin spice lattes. I want the smell of dirt and slowly dying leaves. I want a hillside aflame with fire that doesn’t involve smoke and ashes. I want that feeling of wonder as you travel down a lonely road and are engulfed by autumn leaves.