I was born in fall. I am borne of fall.

Lumbering yellow school buses are the grand marshals of the fall parade.  A parade I look forward to every year.  Even though my child is not yet in school the idea of shopping for bright yellow number two pencils, sweaters, glue sticks and hand sanitizer is intensely appealing to me.  There is nothing more satisfying than the smell of a fresh notebook or pencil case.  I remember the plasticy scent completely.  And how proud I was of my sharpened soldiers and blue inked pens.  School is just one band playing in the fall parade.  The yearly apple picking excursion follows close behind.  Wandering through orchards lugging overflowed totes of crisp sweet sin and topping the day off with a hay ride.  Followed by horns heralding a good troll through a pumpkin patch for a perfect orange specimen.  The cool air and warm sun gleaming through a colorful kaleidoscope are dizzying.  The confetti of leaves ranging from burnt umber to canary yellow litter at my feet as I sip cider and eat spiced apple donuts.  The yard work is tedious but ultimately the smell of burning leaves wafting through the air brings the days reward.  The drum of rain bringing up the rear ending the tropical storm season warning us to prepare for colder days to come.  I was born in fall.  I am borne of fall.  There is no place more perfect than New England in the autumn.