The seasons fly by so quickly. Here I jot the color down, and quickly make a sketch to remember the smell of damp leaves and the way the clouds cleared every afternoon for days on end.
Why is fall so nostalgic? Just as I sit here writing, wondering what it is I'm going to write about, I remember a fall half a lifetime ago when I sat in an empty train car with a new love and the world spun in the fall colors of New England. I smoked Chesterfields from a soft pack, and wore an ancient, fringed suede jacket inspired by too many viewings of Easy Rider and Alice's Restaurant. There was a newness to the world as the leaves lay dying underfoot and the starkness of winter was already layering itself over the sad little town of Concord, New Hampshire.
There is no direct link from that moment to this one, merely the promise of winter, and newness again and again.