"Fall is upon us!"

I want to jump the gun and exclaim: "Fall is upon us!"
That will not do, all though in fact it was just done. Autumn is a quieter season that sneaks into our lives like the morning paper is delivered, and escapes just the same.
In a few short weeks the trees and lawns will be ablaze, all flickering zephyr making a slow leaf minuet tumble.
I have been visibly shivering all morning, ever since I shrugged aside my heavy blankets and laid my bare feet on the concrete floor. I searched out the carpet, but it did not help my shaking.
It is a good sign, at least I would hope. I hate the indoor hall imprisonment of winter, but I bask in the glorious late fall sun sets. The perfect chill will soon be on the breeze, and I will be ready to stand and inhale it richly.

Fall is a time of memories I suppose. Long nights built around the concept that everyone is so void of human contact after a long summer break that we all enjoy each other's company. This is how it begins. The decay and rot aroma hangs dense throughout the atmosphere, intoxicating my senses, invoking slide shows of Friday night football games, grill outs, and bonfire whiskey slurs. I wish I could capture it, and myself, inside a snow globe that was big enough for me to roam in.

For enthusiast of the other seasons, they can simply uproot themselves and find a climate that suits them. For the continual children of spring, the shores of the Pacific Northwest are wet enough to keep their bones soaked. For the constant proponent of summer, the American South West can boil their blood everyday. For the worshipers of winter, well, I doubt there are any of these. Anyway, my point is, there is no where that everything is continually dying, that would make no sense. It would not be a sustainable climate or ecosystem, but I still wish there was a way that I could have fall every day. All the time. Year round. For decades on end.

I haven't been enjoying the first turn of the season, I have been buried under texts with names like: "The Structure of Argument," or "Chemistry the Central Science." I do not know when I will dig my way out. Probably not until the last leaves have fallen and the first snows have buried us for our long winter. That is not a pleasant thought. However, it is correct I suppose.