Autumn

Fall has been my favorite season for as long as I'm aware of having one. Growing up with this as the epitome of autumn more than likely has much to do with it. But I love even more than the inherent beauty of the leaves as they sing their swan songs. I love the nights as they become perfect for sleeping with the windows ajar so that you exist in your warm cocoon of blankets surrounded by a layer of chilled air. I love the smells that exist only in fall - mulching leaves, the first wood fires, the storms. I love the sounds of dried leaves rustling in a breeze or crunching beneath squirrel feet. The sound of nuts plopping off trees and splatting on the hard ground below. I look forward to early mornings and evenings, darkness coming along with the cool and the hint of frozen breath dangling for just a moment before dissipating into the air.

Robert the Llamabutcher has written a lovely bit on fall today as well, spotlighting a poem by Keats in celebration thereof. And be sure to read the comments - this post is a premium example of why I always do when over there, for the Llamabutcher comments tend to be like candybars - sometimes you get a nut, but other days you get chewy, nougatty-goodness. Today is one of those days.