P.S.

Outside my window, the wind is blowing. Dead leaves scatter across soon-to-be dead grass. The threatening sky has been a deepening grey, all day long.

I have come to the conclusion that autumn and fall are two different seasons.

Officially, autumn begins with the equinox in late September - but I think it starts earlier than that. In my mind, autumn starts in early September. Sometimes, it might even start in late August. Fall, I think, starts sometime in late October.

There's a certain undefinable romance with autumn. In autumn, leaves are changing colors, and ripened apples and pumpkins dot the trees and the farms. Late afternoons are filled with golden sunshine. Sharp shadows are cast long across still-green fields. Cool nights approach gently, and encourage deep sleep and sweet dreams.

In fall, the once colorful trees have shed their leaves, leaving behind skeletal frames silhouetted against the graying sky. The cool days of autumn have turned chilly and raw. Nights arrive abruptly and linger stubbornly through the cold, long hours ahead.

In autumn, memories of summer are still fresh, though unnecessary. The pleasant days and nights of autumn stand on their own. In fall, the wasteland of November begins and recent memories of autumn are slowly forgotten. Thoughts turn instead to the inevitable arrival of a once distant winter.

I look out of my window and the wind is still blowing, the leaves are still scattering. Over the hills, I see narrow fans of sunlight streaming through distant breaks in the sky.

But the day is still cold and soon it will be dark. And the wind still blows. The leaves still scatter.