The
best season of the
year. Fewer
tornadoes than in
spring, less
heat than in
summer, and less
crap than in
winter.
It has the best
holidays --
Thanksgiving, where all you have to do is
eat, then throw the
pigskin in the back yard with your cousins while the grown-ups sleep inside from eating too much
turkey, and
Halloween, where you dress up as a
scary monster, tell
ghost stories, and eat
candy.
The
trees change
color and start dropping leaves.
Football gets started, and it gets
fashionable to
bundle up, eat
pickles, and scream at
high school kids to THROW THE DAMN BALL.
Pumpkins ripen, and the yearly
harvest gets started in full swing. The
air gets a little
cooler and
crisper, and you can hear half-remembered
whispers on the
wind.
For
unknown reasons, I can tell when the first real day of autumn arrives by waiting until I get irresistible cravings for
peanut butter cookies. For equally unknown reasons, autumn air always smells, to me, like a combination of
pumpkins,
cinnamon,
chile peppers,
ancient Egyptian funereal wrappings, and
beer.
Best season of the year, really.