As I have stated before, I love this season; everything about it is perfect...
The sun is warm yet winter's long cold fingers can be felt in the air during the day and through my window at night. It is time for my quilts and blankets to come out. The sweaters, chinos, and denim reappear after their yearly sleep during the sweltering heat of the summer. The leaves change color into a masterpiece of reds, oranges and yellows.
The smells of the season appear – pumpkin, apple, Cinnamon and wood smoke.The smells bring back memories: Of camping trips and baking. Of meeting people new and drinking with old friends. Of long lost lovers.
The sports of the season are in full swing. We are part way trough our rugby season. Hockey is starting their preseason training and games. American Football is the darling of the country on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons.
Even the name of the season is beautiful; the word autumn rolls off the tongue in a perfect way.
I guess I should stop fanboying about a season but it exceeds the rest in such a way that I can't stop. This is a bit unpopular. Many writers and artists think of the season as a time of death. I think of it as the best time of the seasons' life.