Wednesday, October 7, 2009

This season of mists

Fall has always been my favorite season. I love the red and gold color of it, like flame, painted across the trees. The ink-slash of branches against a grey November sky. The scents of burning leaves and Bonfire Night, the crisp, mineral smell of the earth, and the dust of leaf-mould. The tastes of apple and caramel and spice and richness. The cold air that flushes cheeks, the certain slant of light that turns a neighborhood street into a cathedral window. The reminder that things end, that beauty is transience, and that we cannot find ourselves in the light unless we walk into the dark.


  1. I've always felt jealous of your perfect falls, all red and gold and full of leaves and wind, with all the aromas and sunsets and so and so.
    But, living in Mexico City, our fall is always hot/warm and rainy and gray with smog. Just as the rest of the year.
    As much as I'd like to relate, it just eludes me.

  2. When it is January, and the piles of snow on the ground are not only taller than my dog, but almost as tall as I am, and the daily high is below 0 (F), I will be very jealous of your weather.