As I stand by the kitchen sink, mindlessly peeling apples for a gratin, my gaze wanders outside the window. The East Coast might have a riot of colors exploding on trees everywhere right about now, from Maine to Vermont. Well, we have late-blooming trees which, combined with the sweltering heat, give us the illusion of an interminable Summer.
But the light is off kilter, the days quite a bit shorter and, if the chill in the air hasn’t made its presence known yet, the smell of the foliage is more intense, as if nature were getting ready for a last hurrah before hibernation.
The tree outside my window reminds me of why I live here, why peeling apples and washing dishes become tasks to look forward to. But I am daydreaming – those apples need to cooked in butter, splashed with cinnamon so that the house can smell like Autumn.