Autumnal lemonade

I’ve lived in Massachusetts nearly every autumn of my 32 years. Except one I spent across the pond. That was a perfect autumn… but I missed the New England smells and colors.

Tonight I found myself stuck in a car, stuck in traffic, rushing in and out of stores to acquire props and deliver them to the BCA for a tech rehearsal. Late - because, of course, traffic WAS hell. (What would Pam Cain have to say about this?) But… the night ended earlier than I anticipated… granting me freedom to dawdle on my way back to Newton.

I confess in spite of the fact I’ve been close to the city of Boston for a greater portion of my years since age 18, I still find a certain awe as I drive through the streets at night. At least… that’s my excuse for my haphazard path home. I love the lights, the vibrancy, the bustle of so many people going places… and then, yes, that crisp smell of autumn.

Almost too cold to do so… but I opened the window as I wound my way to Mem. Drive to follow the river and gawk at the city. That proverbial crisp, clean scent wafted into my car, punctuated by the brilliant half moon rising in the sky. What was slowly building itself to an evening of too many hours in the car unraveled to the delicious appreciation that fall is indeed here.

The drive home became a treat and not a chore as the thought settled in my mind. I smiled at the Harvard soccer practice, reinforcing my running determination for the fall and winter. The smile required less effort when I found Voodoo Child on the radio and increased the volume on my favorite Hendrix.

Simple. But… it made a Tuesday night I would otherwise let pass into the oblivion of forgotten memory one worth noting.