Fall is feasting on the summer’s labor bearing fruit.
Fall is the smell of pine and fir after the first hard rains.
Fall is apples ripening boldly on trees long neglected.
Fall is the salmon spawning in creeks that travel our neighborhoods.
Fall is the burst of brilliant color on maple trees and the mountainsides.
Fall is patches of orange pumpkins waiting.
Fall is the popping of mushrooms from the forest floor.
Fall is the taste of fresh cider.
Fall is for warm sweaters and coats and snuggling.
Fall is a flurry of last minute feathered activity.
Fall is a garden full of slimy sludgy brown grey wet remnants of plants.
Fall is a lessened quality to the sun’s light.
Fall is the wind in the evergreens with their branches stretched as if arms.
Fall is the return of the sound of rain on the roof, dripping from overhangs and down gutters.
Fall is delight in mums that offer the last fresh bloom.
Fall is collecting fallen leaves with the vain hope that they will look as vibrant inside as they do on the ground.
Fall is the coat of horses growing thick.
Fall is tiny ghosts and goblins and costumed beings.
Fall is bonfires.
Fall is streams and rivers filling up again after summer’s diminishment.
Fall is night meeting the day more and more rapidly.
Fall is talk of turkeys and cranberries and potatoes and pies and whipped cream and tradition.
Fall is a time of gratitude and thanksgiving.
Fall is a time of hunger and homelessness and need.
Fall is a time of remembrance.
Fall is a time of generosity that is born of gratitude and thanksgiving.
Fall is a time of turning and preparation to enter inwardness.