Prime Time

Fall means different things to different people. Soup on the stove. The first fire of the season. Football on Sunday. Hunting season, the alarm at four, blaze orange. Waxing the skis, watching the weather, hoping for snow. Pumpkin everything. The Hallmark channel and heavy blankets. Long walks as the leaves rain down. The six-month depression that arrives with the dark at five o’clock. 

For me, fall is prime time. The summer rush is over. Fog moves in off the river in the early morning. The cottonwoods turn orange and rust. The moon hangs low and full in a blue sky that has no business being that blue. 

I’m drawn to my camera and the darkroom, the smell of fixer, the print coming up in the tray.