Fall is at the Corner of 8th and Argonne

I don't know if it's Global Warming or the Big City but since moving down to Georgia I've had very few of those delightful days when you not only see Autumn moving through the trees and feel it in the weather but you smell it. The smell of Fall that brings out the childhood desire to rake a pile of leaves and play in them until you're itchy and smell like a boy and have swallowed several bugs by default. The smell that reminds you of the infinite ache you thought you'd understand when you "grew up". The scent that makes you stop and inhale deeply as though it were your last breath. And that was fine. I don't get that in Atlanta.

Eric and I took a walk a few nights ago. Because of the dangerous drought we find ourselves in, the trees are sadly dull in their yellows, reds, and oranges. I have seen maybe three trees in our neighborhood that, despite the odds, are brilliantly expressing gaping reds and shining yellows and almost neon oranges. Staring at them reminds me of the God of color and creation and creating. We were walking up Argonne kicking acorns and pulling For Sale pamphlets out of their tubes and laughing at the numbers when we reached 8th St.

There it was. Fall.

I stopped at the corner, closed my eyes and raised my nose breathing in, In, IN. Eric had already crossed the street when he realized I hadn't followed. I motioned for him to come back, as though talking would scare it away.

"It's fall" I whispered.

He laughed. "Right here on the corner of 8th and Argonne?"

"Right here on the corner of 8th and Argonne."

"I don't smell it." He inhaled deeply a few times. Then lowered himself a few inches and breathed in again. "You're right," he said, "It's here. Only at your nose level for some reason."

We kept breathing for a few moments and then, as quickly as it had come it was gone. I'm glad we went for a walk that night and I'm glad I happen to be 5'4". Missing Fall in a year, as short as it might have been, would be like missing out on a day to sleep in, or the end of a delicious book, or Renee Zellweger in "Cold Mountain", or the figure's face in a Renoir, or toilet paper in a bathroom.

I hope you found it too.