Autumn in Atlanta comes later than you think. It's the middle of November, but fall has just now reached its peak. The leaves are brilliant, and a warm front made today an odd 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Just last week, I was lamenting the pitiful seasons here in the South - from summer to winter and back again with only a pit stop in between for either spring or fall. But this morning, I was hit over the head with the full force of fall's beauty.
Walking across campus this morning, I turned a corner and was confronted with two huge maples dripping a steady stream of fiery yellow leaves from limb to ground. I walked through the shower, catching one leaf on my arm and another in my hair. Early for class, I deposited some books at the library and returned to the maples. For a solid twenty minutes, I sat on a bench, letting the dying leaves fall silently all around me. At home in Roanoke, the brilliant beauty of fall is unavoidable, painted across the mountains that surround the valley. Here, the season is shorter and easier to miss, and so this morning's moment of autumn bliss unquestionably made my day.