Like many people, fall is my favorite season. After spending three weeks in Hawaii, I returned to Virginia to find fall in full swing – the air is crisp, the leaves are changing colors, and it is decidedly boot and sweater weather. I was ecstatic.

In the midst of changing colors…

My first weekend home the temps were in the 50s, perfect for the new sweatshirt I’d purchased while in Philly recently. I pulled it on and Daisy and I headed outside for a walk around the neighborhood.

Out for a walk!

Fall is funny. The cool weather brings people outside – the trails are busier, the wineries more crowded, the neighborhoods filled with people who’ve been waiting out the heat and humidity from the comfort of their air-conditioned homes. And I don’t blame them, fall is a great time to get outside. But the leaves changing is actually trees withdrawing nutrients from them, pulling them back into their core so they can survive the cold winters. Fall, in reality, is about dying. This fact inspired a poem, of course.

Hike Toward the End of the Affair

We’ve done this trail before, each mis-timed – either

too early and the leaves still lush with green or too late,

and naked trees staring back at us. Today the timing

is perfect, when we reach the top, a kaleidoscope

of fall – burnt orange, scarlet, amber – these trees

the first fire of autumn. I don’t mention that these brilliant

colors are the trees’ final hurrah, I don’t mention the brush

with death they are avoiding.

The perfect orange-leaved tree.

Later that evening, after spending much of the day outside, I changed out of my sweatshirt and noticed the label. Unbeknownst to me, this sweatshirt was literally made for me. It’s seems to be the perfect sweatshirt for the perfect fall day.

the poet’s choice