Fall is brewing in this part of the world. I felt it this morning when I woke up, and felt it again when we went out. There’s an edge to the air, a wildness in the wind. The sun slants in differently through the windows and into the yard. Gauzy tent caterpillar nests are wrapped around tree branches. Apples have arrived at the farm stand, alongside sweet corn and the first harvests of melons. There’s a tingle in the air that makes me come alive again. I can almost taste apple cider on my tongue and smell woodsmoke in the air.
Summer lovely and lazy, laving us in sunshine and warmth. But fall is the Queen of Seasons. My brain is waking up from the summer stupor, ready to plot and plan and make magic happen.
Last night, we finished watching Battlestar Galactica. I felt melancholy all day, reflecting on the bittersweet ending, saying good-bye to characters I’ve been involved with for many many hours–even the ones I didn’t particularly like. Sad that this is it. There are no more miracles, no more revelations, no more cheating death. The questions that went unanswered will remain so. The characters who died will stay dead. The pain and suffering that came before the end will forever be a stain and a shadow. There is closure, but it’s not the kind you’d expect at the end of a Disney movie.
D. thinks that I should probably not be watching another TV series any time soon. I agree with him. I get too wrapped up, too emotionally involved.
Such is the power of stories. Some times it feels so trivial to be a weaver of imaginative fancies, but at other times I’m reminded at how much stories can move people.
Am I strange, or do other people feel the same way I feel–melancholy, a little bereft, a little frustrated–after the end of a series like that?