new sharpened pencils

It’s fall. Not officially, of course, that doesn’t happen until the 21st, but in my book the beginning of school equals the beginning of fall.

There is something about the smell of September when you finally get to open the windows for hours then days at a time. The smell of September is a hint that nature gives us, a signal of a turning point that changes are afoot, new things and old things, beginnings and endings. To describe the subtle shift would be difficult and a little too greedy, but it has undertones of old wood and tired grass and lasting rain and inside the smell there are memories of deep colors, garnet and umber, and of warmth and cool mornings and the sun sinking low. To say that I wait all year for things to die and fall away is not wrong or morbid. I’m just waiting for fall to appear and it has, it’s coming just now.

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