The Scent of a Season

Isn’t it amazing how a single scent can bring on a deluge of memories?

Tonight I stepped out into the crisp air of a clear September night and smelled what can be all too simply described as Fall.

But in the scent of Fall, there are a great number of memories. I smell, of course, pumpkin pie and pumpkin spice coffee. I smell changing leaves, and falling leaves, and leaves being raked.

And I remember back to when my sisters and I used to rake leaves in our front yard. We would rake them into piles and then, as any sane children would do, we’d jump into them and simply enjoy the feeling and smell of them.

I smell bike rides through parks lined with multicolored trees. And playgrounds. And coats.

In the scent of Fall I’m reminded that not far off is the New Holland fair and parade, where my family has been going for as long as I can remember, year after year. The crowds, the rides, the food stands, the ski ball cart run by an old friend of my father’s.

I remember the parade. Watching a long line of passing bands, floats, politicians in nice cars, clowns on unicycles, and tractors, all while sitting on a lawn chair in front of my grandfather’s house sipping hot apple cider. With my family.

With the smell of Fall comes the promise of Thanksgiving. Time spent with family hardly ever seen, games never played, food never so consumed. Happy memories, preserved from the strain of the world.

Fall smells of color, of family, of memories. What can you smell in it?

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