Falling from the treetops

I can think of few places I'd rather be this time of year. There are certain things you count on, and Fall on Yale is one of those things. It is, to sum it up, perfection.

It officially commenced, I think we'd all agree, while walking home from church yesterday. Susan stooped to pick up the first of the fallen leaves - the ambitious yellow-orange and still-green daring leaves; first of the bunch to "talley-ho!" and free-fall down into the crisp autumn air. The excitement continued last night as I sprinted through the first truly fall rainstorm with Elizabeth after the fireside eager to pull out my flannel pajamas - the red ones with snowflakes, just for fun. And today as I said farewell to Katie and Grace, we walked out the front door to greet Steve, who, in between a Katie-catch-up, would shout, "Go long, Dan!" and off would be the Dan Man, looking left, sprinting from our driveway to the end of Whipple's, to complete another perfect play.

Katharine is home from the Y tonight. Our late-night news-spilling sessions moved inside last week as the porch got entirely too cold to sit on - too cold in the good way. There are fresh tomatoes in abundance, pears from Howells and plums from Grandpa's tree. I miss him. Especially at The Lot amongst all his golden aspen. Aside from 15 minutes up Weber Canyon with Grandpa, I couldn't dream of being anywhere else as I sit and type in my room, the treetops on beautiful Yale just below, windows wide open. And, I'm wearing my red snowflake pajamas.