Her Whisper.

From a spare hour I had at a coffee shop…

I am wearing flannel today, so it officially feels like fall. The sky is cloudy and gray and yes, in Nashville, that makes it even more official: Colder weather is coming. I must say, though, this early morning chill at my shoulders is oddly welcoming.

I am ready, I think.

Fall means new beginnings, change, transition. The brigher the leaves turn, the more this is confirmed: Change is coming.

I notice it in my body. My chest feels less stable, less rooted, like hot steam rising from a whistling tea kettle. Thin, almost invisible, but rising just the same. But ya know? I like the feeling, at least every once in a while. 

The feeling of not knowing what's coming next. 

Of not knowing anything, really.

This is always our human state but fall makes it more real, it seems.

Fall is like a tiny whisper of promise delivered with hope, wonder, magic. Her promise carried with the powerful magnetic confidence of a curly-haired three year old with bright eyes and a voice of song, play, and wild imagination.

In the back of her voice, though, you hear it: that slightly mischievous and sneaky, "up-to-something" kind of tone. Like the homemade backdrop of the high school play. You don’t notice it at first but there it is, setting the perfect scene and laughing when the actors forget their lines.

Fall’s whisper, it says,

“Look out, something’s coming. 

Something good. 

Something special. 

It’s waiting for you, just sitting on the curbside of October. 

The bus stop of November, ready to get picked up and swept away. 

Ready to walk among the strangers, blend in with the layered smell of skin, with the promises of tomorrow.

When the trees turn gold and the cool breeze picks up and the leaves crackle underneath your footsteps on the sidewalk, then you will know it's coming.

Something good, something special.

Something just for you.

“Just wait,” she whispers.

Just wait.”