Fall in!

Melissa and I were finishing a late supper when I looked out the kitchen window and said, "Uh oh, I don't think we'll be walking the dogs tonight. We're going to get a storm."
"Mom, it's not going to storm. It's dark because it's nighttime."
OK, so did you know that one major characteristic of alcoholics is denial? And deny I did.
"It can't be dark out yet. It's too early. We're getting a storm."
"Check the Weather Channel," Melissa said confidently.
"I will!" I blustered.
Approximately 15 seconds later my bluster was crushed by the unarguable logic of the stupid Weather Channel radar. And the listing of sunrise and sunset times.
But denial doesn't die that easily. "How can it be getting dark so early? It's only..."
Only almost October. Right.
So Indy and I set out for a walk under a cloudless indigo sky and the nightlight glow of our wonderful old globe-shaped streetlights. The air was cool, soft and sweetened with the scent of dry leaves. Indy was wildly impatient to get under way, having watched Melissa and Saira (her beagle) set out full minutes ahead of us, so the first few blocks were spent trying to hold him to a reasonable pace and pausing to scoop up his, uh, expressions of excitement.
When Indy finally slowed to a brisk, forward-leaning trot, I had time to marvel at how quickly summer had yielded to fall. One day it was 90 degrees, the next day it was 60. This was no gradual change of seasons. Maybe that's why I'm still reeling.
Walking in the fall is 180 degrees different than walking on summer evenings. The streets are quiet. No kids biking, skateboarding, or chasing one another across fresh green lawns. People have their lights on, which I appreciate, because I like to glance into houses as I walk past. Every home is a story being written, a complex history as rich and full as our own. It's easy to forget that everyone is the star of their own play. Those cursory glances at what other people are watching on TV, or what they choose to hang on their walls, reminds me that my life is one molecule in a picture too big for tiny me to comprehend. And I find that comforting.
Walking in the night awakens a particular loneliness I can't imagine a cure for. I'm not lonely for any one person or any particular place. This loneliness evaporates the minute I see my house waiting, welcoming, in the near distance.
I miss summer, but it's kind of a relief to see it end. Summer always yanks at my sleeve, reminding me that unless I'm at the beach or licking an ice cream cone or walking with Indy, I am wasting valuable, fleeting moments of an all to short season. DO SOMETHING! Summer yells.
Fall, on the other hand, says, "Relax. Check out those beautiful leaves. Pull on a warm sweater and curl up with a good book."
Summer is a small, yappy dog who's a lot of fun but wears you out. Fall is a big, gentle mutt, content to meander and take frequent naps.
Lucky for we who live in a place with distinct seasons, we get to enjoy the company of both.