Edema Rue

Snow dots the rocky tips of the mountains like stars in the night sky. Below it, trees as bright as fire are thick and full; they are a warm blanket, a patchwork quilt of reds and yellows and oranges. Their colors seem even brighter sandwiched between the stormy gray sky above and the mud below. In the valley are dozens of houses, protected by the mountains that surround them on every side. In one such house, a pot of apple cider bubbles on the stove. It’s made from the extra juice of the dozens of homegrown apples that sit in bowls on the counter, slowly being transformed into applesauce. On another counter are buckets and baskets of vegetables, waiting to be cut, frozen, freeze-dried, bottled. Several midnight eggplants rest in a bed of shockingly green basil. Fennel seeds are placed into brown paper bags to dry. A basket is filled to the brim with hundreds of green beans, another with raspberries. There’s a box of tomatoes, a box of peaches, and more apples. Zucchini, yellow squash, melons, and cucumbers are also present. 

A crash of thunder booms outside, followed by rain and lightning, but the house is warm and safe. A fireplace sits ready for logs. Mist slowly descends on the mountains, hiding the leaves from view. Eventually the mountains too disappear, leaving only the wet, green valley. Horses and cows graze peacefully in their pastures, sucking in the last days before snow falls and it grows too cold to stay outside. 

Simply put, it is fall.