I am totally in love with fall. It’s my favorite season of the year. I look at the sunsets and just melt away from all the warm and inviting hues that stretch across the sky. There is something about fall that is so calming. I know that my favorite time of the day to drive in the fall is between 6-8pm. I think about baseballs world series, college basketball, and even homecoming football games. I think about all the times my uncle would let us in the free because he worked for the school district and when the games were on Templeton street and all of the memories that fill my head as rushing waters on beach sand. I have actually been thinking about making a movie and calling it G-town. My generation is in our mid-twenties to late thirties anyways. I know nostalgia is a drug that does not hurt anyone. Hey anything is possible. I look back at my childhood and all the years at the family reunions, I think of the pictures that are stuck in my head. These are all the things and times that make me smile inside. I know that is why I love fall so much because my best-self resides there. As I continue to reminisce about my childhood and my love for fall I certainly think about fall, family, food and football. I mean I grew up in the south and in Texas at that. So I know that it might be cliché to say but for some football is truly like a religion. My grandmother would make her best soul food during the fall. I remember the smell of her pecan and sweet potatoes pies how warm and welcoming the scent would be. A house full of flavor, love and wisdom; remembering the feeling of safeness when surrounded by the walls of her house and when she would rub my back to let me know that everything would be okay after surviving the childhood blows of fighting with my cousins all day on the weekends I was the youngest at the time. I still remember how her bed would stretch from wall to wall. I would always know when my grandmother would get out of bed at night because I would get really cold. I would sleep right next to my grandmother’s hip. As big and as comfy as grandmother’s bed was, the warmest spot was always her hips, safest place was always her arms, the happiest place was always her house and the greatest moments always happened during the fall.
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Lacy Jones is an independent writer.
