Fall is my favorite season of the year. It always has been and it always will be. I like to call it autumn because the word seems more mature, more elegant. When I was younger, my dad, my sisters, and I would head out to the lawn in front of our house and rake up the fire-colored leaves. As soon as the pile was big enough for the three of us girls, we would jump in, the crunch echoing through the trees and smiles burning our cheeks. Those memories have been seared into my brain, and I remember that even simple actions like that brought me unfiltered joy.
But then my family moved to California, and I lost that experience. Warm weather is nice, don’t get me wrong, but there were barely any seasonal changes in California, besides the occasional gray sky. I told my parents constantly about how I missed the leaf piles, apple cider, flannels, and boots that came with fall. As back to school season rolled around, I would reminisce about the sidewalks littered in a blanket of leaves. We would decorate our front porch with pumpkins and a cinnamon broomstick, but it was nothing like the real fall. I missed the apple cider donuts and warm hot chocolate.
So when my family finally moved back to the East Coast, I was so excited because that meant the return of my favorite season. As I walk around the Circle, it makes me happy to see the carrot-colored leaves raining down from the looming trees. I’ve definitely taken advantage of the abundance of apples here, and have had quite a few cups of warm apple cider and donuts. If I’m not having a good day, at least I can just look outside and be reminded why this is my favorite season.