Fall checked in today.  Wind whipped leaves sideways across the street, California complained.  I felt the simple, pure thrill of life - wind in the hair, leaves timid to change and a running race against a sun early to bed.  It tastes of New England, boat shoes, naked feet, Birks with wool socks, corduroys, xc oranges, and the October playoffs are sweeping at September as the Sox stare at Angels. Confident Yankees, await.

I’m sure Fenway is brisk, anxious, thirsty.  The credit card for a free blanket guy will make a killing, and the blanket drawn to the chin will challenge fall from the upper deck to the bed.  I can smell the first fire of the season.  Fall colors aren’t quite as bright, and the air isn’t Vermont right, but if I gulp down mint tea and bike a little faster it’s fall.  I taste the chowder, I feel the woods, I know where I’m from.  I wore plaid today - nobody laughed.