Seasonal musings

At the farmers' market yesterday I was smacked with the advent of true fall, as demonstrated by the selection of produce, rather, the lack of it, available. It made me aware of how many of our senses are involved in the heralding of seasons and how grateful I am that mine are alive and well. If they weren't, would I even notice the seasons?

All the colors of fall were visible, the brilliants oranges, the tantalizing greens that are leaving us for the winter, the yellow and golds. The precursors to the colors we will soon see on the trees.

Almost every booth is now squashes and gourds of some kind. There was a different odor to the aisles of canopies, an earthier, dustier, smell. The smooth, cylindrical cucumbers and zucchinis and slick-skinned tomatoes are giving way to the sci-fi, bumpy, strange shapes of decorative gourds.

The sweltering heat that beat down and drenched me in sweat as I pinched sprigs of dill has lightened into a crisp coolness that allows me to stroll at my leisure among the booths, seeking the sunlight instead of the shade.

Summer's variety of flavors-cucumbers dashed with salt and vinegar, juicy tomatoes warm from the vine, buttery corn-on-the-cob, tart cherries from the tree, sweet berries from the bushes, melt into the spoonfuls of squash soups to come, and the pies, made from a gourd, of all things.

The abundance of summer's bounty may be replaced by less variety, but filled with quantity, and color, and sheer size. The smells, the colors, the tastes, the feel of it all has me ready for the change to be complete, the senses to be fulfilled.