Fall is my favorite season. Perhaps it’s because all the routines of old seem fresher. Cleaning dishes while looking at a cold, wet sky seems right somehow. Folding laundry when the air is crisp and the towels are fluffy warm feels like home. The tradition of going to the Fair feels more exciting than Christmas. The cinnamon rolls, the corny dogs, that enormous slice of pizza. They all wait around the corner. The blue ribbon jams and jellies, the photo with Big Tex, the ride on the carousel. They are here waiting for me, and will be again next year. Even though we go to the Fair, year after year, eat the same foods, and go to the same events, they always seem fresh, like I’m experiencing them for the first time.
Perhaps Fall is my favorite because it feels like the beginning of something, the way every morning feels full of possibilities. I don’t know if it’s because school has begun anew or because the air seems to have slugged off its weight into cooler temperatures, but the sky is charged with the electricity of the new. I find myself wanting to make resolutions, to finish off old projects, to ring bells that announce the coming of our Lord. It is now that God seems more real to me, more tangible, even if only in the smell of charcoal smoke. To me, Fall comes to remind us that He is here and will make all things new, starting now.