I suppose this could be another one of those things that defines my rural upbringing. It fits well with my enjoyment of the way fresh cut grass and sawdust smell. And then there are bonfires, which are somehow amazing when you're in front of them and then obnoxiously pungent when you can't get the smell out of your clothes and hair.
This is another time when I start to compare my childhood environment to that of kids in the city. It's difficult to imagine growing up without these things. Sometimes I want to stop remembering them fondly and just do them again. I want the tree in my front yard, being perched on a branch over a pile of leaves deep enough to cushion my leap of faith. I want Friday nights gathered around a bonfire pit, staring into the flames and listening to crackle of branches.
If only autumn lasted longer. And my parents still lived in my childhood home. Or even a had a yard with deciduous trees. Alas, I'll just have to look back fondly for now.
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