Ah, autumn in Oregon. One needs to haul out the entire wardrobe to stay properly dressed for it! One day we may have near-freezing temperatures and strong cold breezes and grab for our fleece-lined jackets and hats; the next, awaken to bright sunshine and a day that warms into the mid-seventies. It's then that we hang up the jacket, discard the hat, and grab our sleeveless shirts and shorts again. But OH! Let us not put the heavier clothing completely away. That would be silly. Oregon is on its seasonal merry-go-round: Around and around the weather goes, and where it will end up nobody knows. And we have our little inside jokes - that the best suntan oil for Oregon is RustOleum, or that there are four true seasons in Oregon: Raining, Ready to Rain, Just Rained, and Sunburn.

This year Summer's been dragging its heels, and Autumn has entered tentatively, blowing cool air kisses at us for a little while, then withdrawing shyly to gauge our mood - No! - we're not ready yet to surrender our sunshine! And Madame Autumn, dressed in her seasonal gown, grabs her red-and-purple- and- gold-leafed train in hand, whirls around and flounces off to wait for another day. Mr. Sun grins broadly and beams at us, in gratitude for our admiration, and we laugh in delight as already-cut-back bushes suddenly shoot forth brand-new blooms. We say things like, "Ah, Indian Summer, it's not fall yet!" Next thing you know, the blooms are withering on the plants and Autumn has made her second or third or fourth entrance, always waltzing to the strains of rustling-leaf rhythms played on the boughs of the shedding trees.

She's grinning now, she knows that Mr. Sun has packed up and is ready to head south to winter over in the southern hemisphere. She has returned with an aire of great self-confidence now...all shyness gone...she knows that we will accept her presence. She is happy to see that some of us actually celebrate her arrival, we revel in the scent of her, heady with wood and burning leaves and crisp air and apple-peel smells and pumpkin pie spices. She understands that to some of us, the revelation of her formal wear for the season is breath-takingly beautiful and not to be dismissed. She has absolutely no sympathy at all for they who (had they been given the choice) would not have invited her this year.

Some folk dread the approach of Autumn and her handmaidens Frost and Rain and, I often think, see death in her and stop there with their minds' eyes. I do not. I see a portion of the cycle of birth, growth, dying, and rebirth. Out of the train of Autumn's gown are shaken leaves that are, yes, dying or dead...but oh how gloriously they are dressed and bejewelled in their rubies and emeralds and topaz for their final dance! And even as they lie on the earth, turning brown and crunchy and unwanted, they don't sorrow over dying - because they know that they will melt back into the earth, and they will live on as they nurture new life coming in the Spring.

And as they lie there, spent but far from done being useful, Miss Frost arrives in her silvery finery, and with her breath blows goodbye kisses to the leaves, and blankets them with crystals of frozen dew. She dances in the morning time, as the distant sun is just peeking over the horizon to see if we miss him yet...and she dances with wild abandon, her laughter chilling the air, tiny feet leaving exquisite patterns on the grassy places. She takes an icy silver-gloved finger and signs her autograph over and over again on our window panes; she scampers all over our gardens and cars, leaving her calling-card at each. But her energy is soon spent for that day; once daylight has arrived in earnest, she scurries off to nap until she can come out to play next morning.

Rain, meantime, stands waiting in the wings, wearing her galoshes in place of dancing shoes, dressed for play and not dance , excited as a giddy schoolgirl. When finally announced, she comes like a flower girl at a formal wedding, grinning, at first marching politely, scattering the tiny droplets of water gently, softly like rose petals everywhere she goes. But she grows more bold and careless with each performance, until finally she throws all caution to the wind and turns her basket upside down on us, laughing heartily at our discomforts.

We are drenched for months on end by her , for she is a true prankster, creating puddles for cars to splash through JUST at the moment we're stepping to the sidewalk in our new dresses and suits; making fresh mud for new shoes to get stuck in; and in general, poking and prodding her way into our everyday, dripping into every nook and cranny where she finds an opening. She's a bold gal, our friend Rain. Hole in the roof? Left a car window open? NO umbrella??!! IN OREGON???!!! Well, all Rain sees is more opportunity for her liquid mischiefs! And there she is, pooling in your attic until just the opportune moment for her to peep into your kitchen through your ceiling tiles, laughing with glee when you sit down on a soggy and mildewed car seat. You'll hear her clapping her hands with joy, her face alight (thus the brief appearance of thunder and lightning here once in a great while) with happiness whenever she gets the chance to wreck a lovely outfit and waterlog a new and costly hairdo - or perhaps create a whopper of a mudslide and take out entire houses!

All in all, though, one must give Madame Autumn her due. When she does come, she comes grandly, unashamedly, dressed like royalty and bringing an entourage that will not fail to be noticed. She comes expecting us all to bow to her...and we do, as we pay homage to her power at the thermostat. She knows she's beautiful. She needs no summer lighting to show off her stuff! She may not bring us the warmth of Summer or the newness of Spring; but she has a grand sort of beauty, a majesty, an aura about her, that bespeaks a different excitement - the excitement of change and of moving forward.

One tries to think of really being able to fully enjoy a caramel apple, a mug of spiced cider, a cup of hot chocolate, a big bowl full of homemade stew or soup, in the warmth of spring or the heat of summer. It does not fit. It is not supposed to. These things connect our hearts to Ms. Autumn and Autumn will carry them forward when it's time for her to dance away and introduce Mrs. Winter. So I say, get out your rain gear, get out your sweaters, keep out a pair of shorts and a tank top until at least November...because Madame Autumn is arriving and the whole of my city is awash with excitement and preparation for her arrival to stay. Light the bonfires! Toss the cinnamon sticks into the cider! Smell the coming frost in the night air! Listen to the geese singing paeons to her beauty as Autumn approaches!

Make way! Make way! She is here! All hail Madame Autumn, give Frost and Rain their recognition. But remember this about Autumn... She's a regal and beautiful grande dame, but in her are also childlike joys and deep satisfactions...jumping into a pile of just-raked leaves, carving pumpkins, harvest, family closeness. She's not to be hated or dreaded. She is a unique and separate cog in the cycle of life. And now, off to mull cider and plan rainy-day crafts!