The air keeps holding on to the faint edges of summer. The spider lilies, their vibrant shade of lipstick color that signaled the rains and change of season have withered. Fragrant olive blossoms, with their pungent aroma have begun to sneak their way out. Fall is both coming and here.

It slowly begins pulling over us like a blanket being pulled up upon us, until it finally, coolly covers our entire body.
The daytime hasn’t yet realized the season, but the nights, with their crispness and aroma carries with it the scents of a home cooked meal after a long day and the leaves that have forgotten their home upon the trees.

Even on foreign soil, fall brings to mind the nostalgia of holidays with family that aren’t here. It reminds me of hot apple cider with pungent cinnamon. Faintly, I can smell the first snow somewhere that was erased by the cold fall rain that came before anyone even woke in the morning.

All these moments of nostalgia are coated with gratitude. As much as I miss the smell of decaying leaves and wood from where I was born, I have become to be more comfortable and loving of the signs of fall locally. Both are a part of me now, neither more worth than the next.