"The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on."
"Autumn," by Emily Dickinson
A few days ago we had one of the coolest, sweetest days in the valley. The rain drizzled in the early morning when the sky was a little meek. We hit a high of 70 degrees, the breezes were blowing, and I broke out my favorite light cardigan. By midday, the sky was a beautiful blue.
We don't get too many days like that in Phoenix. We bask in the Arizona heat until our skin burns and we grow accustomed to blasting the A/C in our cars because it's the only way to set our bodies and minds at ease.
And when we turn the calendar to November (per one of my favorite websites, the Weather Channel), we'll feel the silence of a perfectly tempered car, no air bouncing off the inside walls. No more screams of pain when our arms accidentally hit the metal part of the seat belt that we were trying to avoid in the first place.
This is the Arizona version of Emily Dickinson's "Autumn." She spent most of her life in Massachusetts where the leaves change color before falling to the ground, the air lowers to a deeper chill, and everything seems to fade into beautiful shades of brown. Dickinson values the colors and the nature around her, as described in her poem, and wishes to welcome in the autumn weather with a trinket, a special piece of simple jewelry.
For us, autumn will fade straight into winter and we may not even notice the change. But for that brief moment we will feel Arizona's own colors change. Everything will brighten to a more muted yet vibrant hue.
Autumn is coming, friends. I'm excited, are you?
You can reach me at arabusa@asu.edu or on Twitter @marie_eo.
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