By: Gabriela Yareliz
Somehow, in a desert of Vogue magazines, my fiancé found me the iconic September cover. I swear, it’s like impossible to find a magazine in Brooklyn. Do we not love fashion as much as Manhattan? Sigh.
He also got me two of my favorite things, those little cinnamon brooms from Trader Joe’s. I love them. I love (and have) them in big and small. I put them around my bed so I can smell them when I am cozy and fighting my eyes to stay awake while reading with my Kindle. I remember my brother once saw my collection of brooms and asked me what kind of witchcraft woo woo weirdness I was practicing. (This is a joke).
The little brooms remind me of childhood fall. When the teachers wore pumpkin vests and decorated bulletin boards with laminated leaves that had our names on them. The brooms take me back to that smell like Michael’s when they put out the seasonal decor. You know, that smell that sort of smells like fresh dirt, cinnamon and leaves when you’ve been raking for hours and your hands start getting callused. That smell that wafts up as you grab moist shiny orange leaves and fling them into large black bags as a kid, wondering how there are still so many left and how many more hours of raking slavery are left.
I remember the early morning bus rides through the twisty bright Michigan trees. The way the pond behind the school looked and the dock, 300 shades of brown and yellows reflecting into the dark water. There were the early rainy mornings where my science class would make me and someone else go outside just by the window and take the temperature and write it in a little log. The way the mornings suddenly felt dark. At recess, we would sweep up the little pine needles and make little “homes” to play in. That feeling of touching the tree trunk and my hands getting sticky with the sap, and me probably trying to wipe the stickiness onto my pants (which were probably corduroy) because that is what kids do.
Turtlenecks with leaf prints. School photos that memorialized my chipmunk look (photographers and their comments that stayed with us forever). Fall festivals with mazes made out of boxes. Apples covered in caramel and nuts. It was a sweet and glowy season inviting us all into mystery, wonder and apples. It’s going to be a cool night, and I am ready with my cinnamon brooms surrounding me.
GABRIELA YARELIZ 