I’ve never really liked fall. A summer girl, with a summer birthday, and a body that shivers at the first signs of cold, I dread the days getting shorter, the air brisker, that strong sweeping wind that overtakes New York in the beginning of autumn.
But it’s only the worst at the beginning, when the chill is still a shock. Once the cold has settled into my blood, I start to remember all those things I forget and learn again each year. The smells of fall — of wet earth and aging leaves and raindrops on stone. The way the air feels thinner, but richer, as if somewhere not too far away a fire is burning, keeping someone warm. I start to pile on sweaters and it doesn’t seem so bad after all.