This isn’t really about fibromyalgia; it’s just what came out when I sat down to write.
During this time of year I get especially nostalgic for my childhood. I guess I’m starting to get to the age where I start seeing the past as a better and more simple place, since I am removed from the cares of those years and so absorbed in my present years.
I miss having a Fall like the ones we would have back home. (And, yes, I know some people prefer to call it “Autumn” but hardly anybody called it that where I grew up, so it’s “Fall” in this piece.) There was a real perceptible change in the weather, a real feeling of things shutting down and closing in. And there was always variation, Kansas weather being a tricky thing. Some years we had mild weather well into November and December; some years it’d start snowing in October. I’m glad I don’t have the snowstorms and blizzards and grey freezing days of my childhood, but I miss reds and golds and oranges and the piles of leaves of October. I miss the wind blowing the leaves against my legs and blowing my hair out behind me, the wind stinging in my eyes and blinding me. I miss struggling against it. It was so elemental and wild, coming down off of the mountains and then rushing over the prairie to get to me, a small person against a wall of wind. I even miss the piles of wet, sodden leaves of late November into December and grey, wet days. I miss cold mornings that turn into golden afternoons. I miss days that make you dress in layers. Here there’s no need for layers. You barely need sleeves. (Okay, one day this weekend I needed to wear a jacket and we did run the heater in the small hours of the morning. But the next day: warm.)
I noticed a few trees on campus today turning yellowish and orangish. I guess they’ll have to do. I doubt I’ll be singing this tune once December rolls around, though. Right now I’m just indulging in nostalgia and in love with the idea of cold weather. I’m sure if it ever gets down to 30 F this winter I’ll be complaining of the cold.