I went for a walk this morning. At first, I found myself wishing I had my camera with me, but as I tried to fix what I was seeing “in my mind’s eye” I became more aware, and found myself drinking in fall, through all the senses. And by the time I got home I had made this mental list:
Fall Sights: Colours, of course. Burning in the trees and smouldering in the grass. Bright berries. A quince bush, bereft of leaves but now boasting a collection of golden fruit.
Fall Smells: Wood smoke, which may be the true smell of nostalgia. And something that smelled inexplicably like cotton candy…
Fall Sounds: A pheasant blundering conspicuously through the dry undergrowth. The rattle of birch trees dropping their leaves.
Fall Touch: Rolling a smooth chestnut in my hand. Cool air on my cheeks.
Fall Taste: The sweetness of a crisp apple, purloined from a roadside tree. I have made a habit of tasting apples from the trees I come across and while many prove sour and inedible, I know now where to find the tastiest fruit.
I’m sort of glad I didn’t have my camera.