Autumn casts its annual magic spell

Recently, Jody and I decided to spend part of our precious weekend at the 112th Bolton Fair. Yes, there were more practical things calling for our attention—mowing the lawn, paying bills, tackling the chaotic hall closet—but we agreed those could wait. The fair comes only once a year, and on a crisp, sunny October morning, it was a far more tempting way to spend our time. After all, autumn’s mild days vanish all too quickly, and soon enough we’ll be bracing ourselves against winter’s bitter chill.

As we wandered through the fair, soaking in all the sights, sounds, and smells, I found myself reflecting on the beauty of this season. Autumn is a time of transition, when nature seems to explode in a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, and oranges, set against a sky so blue it feels endless. It’s as if the natural world itself is calling out for our attention, like a child showing off their first painting and saying, “Look what I made!”

Autumn gently tugs me back to my childhood, unlocking a treasure chest of memories from past fall days. Vivid recollections come flooding in—walking home from school, feeling the cool October air on my face, creeping under my jacket, the scent of earth in the breeze. I remember walking with an armful of books while my sneakers crunched over a carpet of fallen leaves and acorns. Those were the days when life’s responsibilities rested lightly on small shoulders, and the present moment felt like the only one that mattered—blissfully free from past regrets or worries about what lay ahead.

Autumn is a season of passion, a brief yet brilliant burst of color and energy before the world turns gray and cold, and we retreat indoors. Its magic can strike at any time, often when you least expect it. On a walk down a country road, you might be swept up in the sweet scent of fallen apples, the sharp tang of burning leaves, and the smoky aroma of a hearth fire sending its warmth into the crisp air. The light shifts, growing thinner and softer; the birds grow fewer, the days shorter—and you pause, taking it all in.

Autumn marks the close of another chapter in nature’s cycle, sending plants, trees, and animals into a long winter’s rest. It’s a perfect metaphor for life itself, one that invites reflection, contemplation, and quiet reverie.

As we strolled through the fair, I felt a deep connection to all the autumns that had come before. The childlike wonder of the season returned, and I embraced it fully as the gifts of autumn unfolded before us. I watched with delight as fresh-baked apple pies were proudly displayed, while wide-eyed children waited eagerly, breathless with anticipation. I listened to the bleating of sheep, the quacking of geese, and the indignant braying of donkeys, who seemed to be protesting to anyone who would listen. I smiled at the painted pumpkins, half-expecting them to come to life like Halloween versions of Frosty the Snowman.

My senses were in overdrive, and I felt a bubbling joy deep inside as the past and present blended together. I tucked these moments away in my mind, knowing I’d revisit them when October’s warmth fades, and November’s gray stare sets in.