I love Autumn in Sacramento. The trees light up like flames of red and yellow. On my run this morning the fallen leaves paved the road like yellow bricks. It was good for my imagination.
This is the time of year when I come up with new ideas, when characters whisper to me from behind trees. This is the time of year when a hint of woodsmoke in the air forms whole worlds. This is a time for crossing the threshold into the faerie realm. This is a time for magic and candles and pie. And magic.
For a person who lives almost entirely in her imagination anyway, Autumn is a time when anything can happen. I am a California girl and shiver when it gets below sixty Fahrenheit. I don’t know real cold, or the kind of muggy heat that oppresses your breath. This is why I appreciate the subtle tones of Central Valley in November. The Ginkgos and the Japanese maples beckon me with their sly, narrow branches and red and gold leaves.
Imagine a world, they say to me. Imagine a whole other world.