Written 07.24.2025

Call it obsession, call it devotion... I call it fall. Here’s a love letter to autumn, written while stalking the Starbucks menu and dreaming of pumpkin scones.

There’s a tree at the entrance of my cul-de-sac that’s a harbinger.  It’s the first to blossom in spring, and the first to turn colors in the fall – or more precisely, the third week of July.

I’m not sure why. There are other trees of the same species in the same area, but for some reason, the leaves on this one start turning a shade of pale pink, which will morph into scarlet, before the first week of August. One might suspect it’s in cahoots with the Hallmark channel which starts showing Christmas movies at about the same time (or have they gone Christmas 24/7/365?)

For a long time, the sight of this transformation brought on a feeling of deep melancholy. Soon it will be fall, followed by the dreaded, eternal winters of the Mid-west. But, the last few years, I not only welcome it. I anticipate it with a level of excitement of a five-year-old hearing they’re going to Disney World. Because the truth is, I absolutely, positively love autumn. I am to fall what little monsters are to Lady Gaga. Obsessed.

You may be thinking, “It’s too early! Summer is only four weeks old!” Well, your short summer means my fall lasts longer. I get an additional month to start celebrating all things autumnal.

Yes, I’m the one who can’t wait until pumpkin season. I’m already stalking the Starbucks drive thru menu to see when they’ll start offering  pumpkin scones. The cinnamon scented candles, delegated to the storage bin in the garage, are anxiously waiting to take their rightful place in the dining room again.

Sweaters have been washed, folded and are now runway ready. It’s all I can do to stop myself from unpacking the fall décor and peppering the house with glass pumpkins of every shade of yellow, orange and red.

I ache for the days when the searing brightness of summer sunlight mellows into a shade of buttery yellow, lending a cinematic quality to every outdoor event. The smell of  burning leaves is intoxicating, and the sight of school buses weaving their way through the neighborhood floods my brain with memories.

I live close enough to the high school where, on a few occasions, I can hear the marching band practice and, while running errands in town, it’s not unusual to see cheerleaders congregating in groups as they go about – well, whatever it is cheerleaders do when they’re not cheering.

It’s not lost on me that it’s unlikely I’ll be around to see children born this year graduate in 2043 and it makes this season all the more precious, more intense, and I’m overwhelmed with gratitude to just be here at all.

For schools, colleges, universities and most arts organizations, the year starts in September. New plays debut, dance recitals abound and orchestras tune up. It’s worth the effort to sort through all the junk mail I receive and  linger over the glossy brochures to decide what to see and when.

It’s pie time – apple, Dutch apple (with ice cream) and pumpkin (with whipped cream.) “Tis the season of all things butternut squash: soup, ravioli, risotto.

It’s lawn crews with blowers losing their weekly battle with the leaves, skies so blue sapphires turn green with envy, and winds so cool, they beckon you to break out every version of plaid clothing stored in your closets.

And perhaps my favorite – it’s football season. Having gone to a Big Ten school, there’s nothing quite like a college game against your biggest rival (I’m talking to you, Big Blue). And while the pro team in my hometown has redefined the word “despair” every year since1999, each new season we cross our fingers and hold our breaths thinking …”Maybe this time. Maybe…this…time.”

I close with this thought.  The world has enough problems without adding seasonal discrimination to the mix, so there’s no need to be hating on those of us who would, if possible, vote for autumn to be perennial.

You do your summer thing – swim, fish, boat, camp, order those dragon fruit froo-froo drinks. We’ll be over here counting down the days until we can, without shame or impunity, light our cinnamon candles, sip our spiced lattes, and revel in the crisp glory of a fall that can’t come soon enough, thankyouverymuch.

“CAN’T STOP THE FEELING!” – written by Justin Timberlake, Max Martin, and Shellback; performed by Justin Timberlake (2016).