Crisp air, the sweet emulsion of decaying leaves and fragrant mums, going out in a blaze of glory before the first killing frost — I love the Fall. I remember a weekend my Junior year in college when we went up to Dartmouth at the height of the foliage. The oaks and maples had gone up in flames all over the campus, and the ones farther along wore aprons of gold coins about their trunks. The girls were beautiful.
And I was 21.