We had a warm, dry weekend here in Southwestern Ohio. And everywhere we went, there were people out in their yards with ladders and strings of lights. Puddles of plastic on the grass indicate where whimsical characters wait to be inflated and illuminated. Icicle lights fringe the gutters on houses and garages, easy to see even though they’re unlit and it’s daytime. On some of the pear trees that line certain subdivision streets near my mother’s house, glinting bits of glass among the bare branches show that it won’t be long until magical, twinkling tunnels transform the even strolls of neighbors and their pooches.
And already, every so often, there’s a home already bright in the autumn dusk with festoons of hard candy colors.
I love fall, and I really don’t like to see it rushed. I prefer pumpkins and Indian corn to remain on doors and mailboxes until Thanksgiving, a holiday wreathed with rust-colored leaves and acorns. But I appreciate the wisdom of taking advantage of great weather to get the decorations up and ready. It’s only a matter of days now, after all.
The Christmas season is coming.