Well, folks, I'm having to wear a jacket now when I take out the dogs in the morning and when I take them back out at night. So it must really be autumn now. Let's have a look at the homestead:
The apples and pumpkins sure are looking fine. Been meaning to get some of that ivy off the house. Maybe in the spring. Little Johnny's getting pretty fat, I'm afraid. Loves to eat them apples. Farts like a carthorse.
Now that it's officially the fall, it is safe for Dunkin' Donuts to do that pumpkin spice crap. Sure, and everyone else too. I would have preferred they waited until October, but this is close enough. You'll have no more fight from me, people. But no peppermint until after Thanksgiving or there'll be trouble.
The sun is running away like a terrified rabbit now, and it's darker now at night than it was in the spring when the day was exactly the same length. Or so it seems to my eyes. The preponderance of daylight in the summer makes its absence in the fall that much greater.
All these thoughts get me thinking about the things I have not done in the years since I left the city to be a prince of suburbia: no corn mazes, apple picking, pumpkin picking; no apple festivals, harvest festivals; no bobbing for apples, hayrides, special leaf-peeking trips. Not that these things don't happen; I just haven't had the huge need to get around to them. On the other hand, I haven't found it necessary to rake, either. Since I don't have a lot of trees I can just mulch the ones that fall with my lawn mower. And I eat Halloween candy. So there's that.
I love autumn, even though I don't do anything special for it. Autumn is like a great old friend who comes to visit, to cheer you up if you miss summer, and you're so happy to see him, and you kind of feel like you've been freed from the heat of summer as if it had been an onerous responsibility. By the time Autumn leaves, the place is a wreck and all the food is gone.