October sharpens my senses; it always has. If I’m feeling sad, I feel very sad. If I smell wood smoke, ripe pumpkins or Halloween candy, I tumble back in time 20 years. If I step outside into a frosty morning just after sunrise, the atmospheric hush is almost unbearable. And everything feels very fragile, whether it’s the fading light after supper or the spines of the leaves or the midday heat. Also my heart. It’s like October is the month that strips away all our pretenses and shows us what we are. Anything is heart-breaking against the bright blue of the sky as it gathers itself for winter. Finally, we slip on our sweaters and our hearts are insulated again.

But before that, we give ourselves totally to the fleeting pleasure. I tap my foot to bluegrass music and spend hours wrapped in a blanket on the front porch. I show my son how seasons change and hope he remembers the brittle grass and bright colors. I sit on the porch swing with my husband late at night while he smokes a pipe.

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