I have always had indecisive taste. In grade 1, they asked me what my favourite colour was; I listed all seven in the rainbow. Last Sunday I decided autumn is my favourite season. It was the perfect day for a walk, full of typical stereotypes, which, in truth is what makes fall so wonderful:
Of course it’s the leaves.
The crunch of curled up shells beneath your feet; the earthy smell of those that have escaped raked piles and large brown paper bags, softening into the brown mush of soil. The whispers of certain lingerers rustling against the wind, echoing through streets of the neighbourhood.
The flutter of nature’s paper in orange, yellow, red, and everything in between – some oscillating gently to the ground, others swirling around vibrantly as if they knew where they were going. A car roars past sending an enormous wave of tiny yellow leaves behind its wheels, glinting gold in the sunlight against a clear blue sky.
The air is crisp, not too hot, and not too cold. Breezes are cool enough to sharpen the senses and numb fingertips, and the sunshine warm enough keep your cheeks from getting too rosy. It’s weather for denim or leather jackets, boots, scarves, and my favourite, comfy sweaters. It’s layering at it’s best – without the overstuffed feeling of giant heavy winter coats and occasional long underwear.
The distant honking of Canada geese and the scurrying of fat balls of black fur that are squirrels up trees reminds me that winter is coming. There is anticipation in the air as the last remnants of summer slowly disappear, giving way to the beginnings of the chills and darkness that will be the next half a year. The soft glow of sun, breezes, leaves – it all makes you feel so close to nature.
It’s a rather thoughtful and reflective season, and I like that a lot.