A parakeet – Only as Good as its Fall

Fall is here.  And for many like myself, it is the best time of the year.

Why?  Is it the changing leaves?  Is it the moderate temperature, shifting from the fiery test of summer and before the bone chill of winter’s grasp?  Is it the invasion of pumpkin spice into all aspects of humanity?  Or is it the celebration of ghouls and goblins yearning for sugary tribute to assuage the trick?

Or could it be all of the above?

When I was a child, we lost much of the life we knew during the Fall.  Divorce.  Changing schools.  Moving to uncertainty all seemed to peak during that cold leaf-less time of my adolescence.  The Black Parakeet caught up in autumnal whirlwinds he could not fly through.  A lost hatchling tossed about in October skies.

And yet somewhere in the months of the year’s dying, there was more than the pain and terror of unwanted change.  Somewhere in there was foundation.  In the Fall of childhood, in the falling of childhood was the family that did not leave but stayed and stayed strong.  Somewhere in there was the passion of writing (albeit in its nascence) that allowed for expression of pain and the reach of joy.  There it was in the October and November months, both the loss of everything and everything’s gain.

Pumpkins.  Changing colors.  Dying leaves.  Candy in vampires’ bags and witches’ cauldrons.

A parakeet – Who was only as good as its Fall.

So that is why I love the Fall.  Not only because of the seasonal change but because of my changes – both willing and otherwise.  Fall is transformational.  Fall is proof of survival.  Fall is proud celebration.