I hear it in the crickets singing of an evening. I smell it in the pumpkin and cinnamon baking together in a dozen muffin cups. I feel it in the air, a softening and slowing.
In the spring I think perhaps spring is my favorite season, and in the summer I think maybe it is summer; but come fall I know.
There is a tangible loosening in the tight loins of our schedule, like a large woman sighing out of her corset.
There is hot tea again (Beautiful tea. It tastes just right in the fall.) and spiced and comfortable food.
There are new school supplies, sharp and smooth and colorful. I walk my second son to the door of his first grade classroom, and my big boy to fourth. I am smiling in order to hide a complex mix of anticipation and fear and hope and aging. They are just smiling. Ear to ear. Oh yes; I know why I send them.
There is the longing Mr. Lewis called joy, the reaching for an infinite otherness that is never… quite.
What says “fall” to you more than anything else? Tell me.