Pumpkins

The other day, I came across a “Pumpkins for Sale” display, the first I’ve seen in 2020.

Each year, this moment, the first arrival of the pumpkins, feels like New Year’s Eve to me. It feels like the start of something, a beginning.

That might seem strange, considering that pumpkins traditionally mark the final hours of warm weather and endless sunshine, of abundant, growing crops. Autumn is known as a time of endings, falling leaves and dormant flowers.

But heat makes me wither. It feels like I’m holding my breath, stuck in time as I endure the hot and sweaty Summer days, grateful for man-made cooling options and icy beverages. When the first chilly morning breezes begin, and the pumpkins appear, I feel like I can exhale, and then take a new breath and step forward.

I don’t see Autumn as the end. I see it as a fresh start, heralded by orange and brown and gold and green, piled in a display with a hopeful sign overhead.

Pumpkins for Sale.

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