Ridgefield in late October is the thick skin of summer split open to reveal a vibrant and meaty flesh of a dying year. It is a last gasp, a final plea, a showcase of potential that inevitably and incredibly will be dismissed for the pale brittleness of a long winter.
It is a small triumph of a long year. It is an oasis after a journey through a desert. It is a victory won by battles fought through last year’s winter. It is the medal ceremony of spring and summer, full of the satisfied grins of children feeling the warm breath of August on their cheeks. It is a reminder of the short days ahead of us, the bracing first breath of the morning, the snow falling through the light of a streetlamp that cuts through a dark night, the smell of a neighbor’s fireplace.
Ridgefield in late October is the wind catching the burning embers of summer, fanning a flaring blaze of fiery foliage (of fall).
Ridgefield in late October is pumpkins, trick-or-treaters, mothers walking with babies in carriers, thoughts of Thanksgiving, pumpkin pie, warm hellos, the thoughtfulness of strangers.