Every year, as the U.S. Open tennis tournament draws to a close, the subtleties of fall begin to sneak into play. I looked out the window the other day and noticed that five or six leaves on the tree I was staring at were just starting to turn yellow. It would have been easy to miss--especially considering the schedule I keep sometimes, but I'm glad I didn't miss it this time.
The fall means so many things to me. It means football, cool weather, memories of hay rack rides, the "Great Pumpkin" Peanuts episode, and it means it's time for my annual pilgrimage to New Mexico to teach at a writer's conference while enjoying the company of good friends I haven't seen since the previous conference. It means shutting off the television once in a while and getting lost in a great novel, or even a mediocre one. It means spending Friday nights with friends at a coffee shop. And of course, it means Christmas isn't all that far away.
I'm a bit of a sentimental sap. I admit it. Fall just does something to my sentimental side. It provokes it to wake up and slow down.
