Fall.

Fall is sensual.  The leaves are gold, red, orange:  like fireworks on sticks.  The air is crisp and cocky and the whole world smells like apples and cinnamon.  On my run this morning, my breath puffed stinging through my mouth and nose, like I was smoking peppermints.  With the neighbor's dog loping beside me, I jogged through piles of browning leaves, the dampness sweet and musty.  Along the sidewalk, crunchy blades of grass stood like little soldiers, alert in uniforms of ice.  It's been like wandering through a book, getting to know this new world of autumn; and they say it's going to snow soon!