Fall is really here. I love it. The red and yellow leaves swirl all around like snow as I drive to Cape Charles. I can smell the season. Clean air, crisp breezes, and sun rays dance across the open fields that envelope my journey to a new day. Change is on me. It is Friday and all is well here for me on the Shore. I'm reminded today for some reason of the time when I was a little girl living in North Carolina. I remember loving this time of year from a very young age. It was just my mom and I. Each morning in the fall she would drop me off at preschool. Smooch on me, squeeze me a little too tight, and then tromp off just across the street to her job. A social worker was her choosen profession. Her days filled with supporting, conjoling, pushing and filling out endless mounds of paper work. My days filled with running, chasing, screaming, napping, painting and stories. I loved preschool for the stories. Each day just before nap time, ah nap time. If only we knew then what we know now...that naps are good and should always be taken when offered. As we would spread our Road Runner sheets out on the uniform sky blue inch thick mats, throw the time worn down to flat pillows, my youthful teacher would start story time. I remember one story in particular. I think now as I've had time, experience and just a dash of perspective to think on it, I remember this one story, the retelling of it by myself mostly, because it was the vehicle in which I realized the power of words.

At the end of each day of school and work, my mom would scoop me up amongst all the other kids and take me to Morrison's Cafeteria for dinner. The name has stuck with me for no apparent reason since it does not factor into the story but each time I tell this tale I feel compelled to say the name and say it with emphasis. Perhaps more time, experience and perspective will season a reason on that one. I cherish the days we had at Morrison's. Now I look back on it and recall that it was cheap, we could eat a lot of food for not a lot of money, it was close to our house and it was always crowded. Back then I felt we went there because it was family. Not other customers, family. Surrounded by others we were not so alone. We were poor in cash yet rich I remember in love and people because we ate there every night. It was an adventure for me, one of the few actual gifts my mom was able to give me at the time. We had not much at that time and being there, getting to choose my food, and debriefing the day together was something she could give me, to make me happy. We became more than mother and daughter. She was my first best friend.

Each night as we ate I would retell the story of the day. On this one particular night I told the story of a mama bunny and her baby bunnies. As I detailed out the adventures and life of the bunnies, tables close to us stopped talking and listened to my story. They too were looking for warmth, companions, family if only for an hour or so. I told in grave detail how the mama bunny cared for her babies, loved them and shared with them all the secrets of being a bunny. The height of the story, the climax took the mama bunny and her babies on a trip into a near by woods. Woods filled with unknown scary animals, dark and mysterious shadows and the wonders of what could be out there all rolled into one...as I told it. As all eating had stopped, raised forks suspended as if a pause button pushed, I continued on. The mama bunny had lost her baby bunnies and was now frantic. Without missing a beat I said, "And I gotta tell ya, that really fucked the mama bunny." Gasps, scrapes of utensils on plates, and shuffling of chairs, and the hush of resumed talking now filled the air. I finished the story, now my mom the only audience member, laughing the entire time.

To others the word was harsh, vulger and not what a five year old should know of let alone use in public. My mother listened to me tell the rest of the story, laughed through out and thanked me ever so honestly once I was done. There was no punishment, no yelling and explaining that I was bad for using such language. One because she knew of the origin of my knowledge of the word; herself. But mostly, I do to this day whole heartedly believe because she knew, as I did on some level, that it was only a word, just a word. A word that instantly conveyed how the mama bunny felt. I made it powerful. How magical, how brilliant and with only one word a change. One word explained how the mama bunny really felt as her life was then forever changed. One word that caused others to react, repel, and change. One word that made my mom laugh. Powerful.

I have no idea what all this means. I guess today I actually felt, like an arm grabbing me, holding me, that fall is truly here with winter riding on it's coat tails. Change is in my world, I can smell it, taste it, feel it, and it makes me happy. Happy. Another powerful word.