Falling for autumn.

Last night, I went to a high school football game inappropriately dressed. It was 45 degrees and I was still in my work clothes — tall boots, a wool skirt and sweater. I had enough time and enough sense to stop by my house on the way to grab a coat, but I didn’t have gloves or a scarf or pants or non-heeled shoes, which would have made climbing the bleachers much easier. But despite the chill in the air and the fact that my friends were wearing scarves and gloves and our noses were running and the air was blowing and the cheerleaders were wearing coats and pants under their skirts, I was warm. There’s just something about the smells of autumn that make the fact that it gets dark so early somehow bearable. I normally crave sunlight and long days and balmy temperatures, but by October, I’m ready for the way the leaves turns shades of vibrant orange and red and yellow and the way that walking around the neighborhood is accompanied by a new soundtrack of crackling leaves and acorns. In autumn, the sound of the wind through the trees isn’t as swooshing as it is in the summer, instead, it’s a cracking sound of limb to limb and branch to branch and gazing at the sky through the almost-bare branches means seeing through the smoke from end-of-season barbecues. In autumn, there isn’t as much of a glare and sunglasses aren’t as important and being outside is freeing and fun and it’s the only time of year where I actually wait for the first snowfall with endless anticipation. And though really, autumn is a season of dying for flowers and grass and summer’s bounty , it’s perfect and beautiful and it offers so much hope because though winter’s hard freeze is around the corner, there is always the promise of spring.