A lone bright red leaf. A leaf blowing the heralding horn of Fall. In Minnesota Fall requires a capital letter, as it is an important time of the year. Beautiful, crisp air devoid of humidity. Vibrant foliage, horses hooves crunching upon leaf strewn bridle paths in the park. Flocks of geese passing over as they leave Canada, masses of migrating song birds heading for more temperate climes. Crisp, tart apples fresh from the tree, pumpkins waiting to become pie, muffins and bread.
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A bustle of activity as we busy ourselves readying our homes, our gardens, ourselves for the next season. People seem more pleasant in the fall. There is something comforting about enjoying the shortening, waning days of mild weather, all the while anticipating the time when the earth pulls up its cover of snow and slumbers for the winter. In the meantime, we have Fall. Wood smoke scents the air, frost embraces our land on a softly lit morning, chilly but nice.
Bonfires, fireplaces, bubbling stew, homemade bread. It's hard to see anything but good in the Fall. The horses begin to look like plush animals as they grow the coat that will keep them warm over the harsh winter. But we don't dwell on why they are so soft and fluffy. We simply bury our noses in the soft warmth of their bodies and breath in the wonderful smell that is them.
In Minnesota, we savor Fall like a fine, aged wine. We sip it, rolling it upon our tongue, swallowing slowly. If we savor, it may last just a wee bit longer. We may hold off the winds of winter one more day, perhaps one more week. We don't contemplate why, for that would mar the glory of Fall; it would bring to mind something we try to ignore, nor matter how long the years have repeated themselves; how many times we have been to this dance. We hug Fall to ourselves, attempting to keep it with us this time. Just this once, let us keep it.