by Marie Davis & Margaret Hultz.
Autumn days passed and the season began to cluster in the corners of Lola’s black eyes. That meant the sun was sitting lower, and the moon fuller. An impending winter was whispering snow promises. Coats staked in closets were brushing the dust off their shoulders, boots clicked mud from their heels, sweaters headed for the laundry in slow procession to rid themselves of musty smells. Fireplaces began to stack cords of wood out back. Fall is seductively cozy. Grandmothers pulled out their timeworn recipes to cook up a mess of grandchildren running through the house; one big, fat brown turkey, sweet-tart cranberry relish, and hot pumpkin pies topped with melting whipped cream. That’s a certain recipe to produce a gaggle of youngin’s racing through the house toppling objects with priceless sentimental value.
Such were the events of the second Saturday afternoon in October, when Lola gathered up her pirate and took Lizzy to an apple orchard.
Lizzy growled, “Girlie, where do you want this old quilt?”
“Put it over there, under that big tree all polka-dotty with red apples.”
“Polka-dotty?” Lizzy grumbled under her breath, as she scanned the field lined with countless Macintosh apple trees. Frowning, she mumbled to herself, “Just which one of these blankety-blank trees is supposed to be polka-dotty?”
“Silly pirate!” Lola called out from the top boughs. “Put the quilt under this tree.” Picking two of the juiciest apples, she shouted, “CATCH!”
“HUH? How’d you get up…?” Lizzy dropped the quilt just in time to catch one of the apples; the other, “OUCH!” bonked her on the head.
“Sorry.” Lola said, scampering down the tree.
Crunch… crunch… crunch… Sitting on the quilt the lovers ate the crunchy apples, with each bite the sweet fruit splashed into their mouths. Arm in arm, they watched the warm autumn day slowly saunter past. Everything was quiet, except for the whispering of a gentle wind, apple crunching, and the occasional bird chirp.
A full hour later, Lizzy ripped open the silence, “I’m wonderin’ Lola, do you like autumn best?”
“No,” she replied smiling.
“What about spring, is that your favorite season?”
“Nope.”
Lizzy frowned a tad, “Winter?”
“Naw.”
The pirate said with certainty, “Summer! My lil’ darling likes summer best.”
Lola shook her head.
“Well, what is your favorite season?”
“I think you, Miss Lizzy—the mean ol’ pirate—you are my favorite season.” She kissed her pirate, and this time it was Lizzy who smiled. The lovers blew secrets into their apple cores. Show-off Lizzy used her hook to toss the wish-filled cores across the field, skipping them like rocks on a pond. The wind whispered, an extra bird or two chirped. Lovers sat silently embraced. Tranquility flowered.