Falling for Madison.

The weather has cooled off a bit here these last few days, and though the weekend promises temperatures in the seventies, I’m completely sold on fall. Walking around town and campus this week has been lovely: I’ve discovered the view from the next hill over past Bascom, where the Washburn Observatory and the Institute for Research in the Humanities overlook Mendota from a clearing in the trees; I’ve enjoyed the warm, oblique late afternoon light as it shines over my shoulder on my walk home; I’ve finally broken into the sweater drawer with consistency; my ears have gotten cold. Last weekend, I went on a little walk around the neighborhood to check out the species of trees lining the streets in anticipation of fall color: the good news is that there are a lot of sugar maples; the bad news is that I have yet to see a single red maple. I’m hoping one will announce itself to me in full color in the coming weeks.
The weekly routines of classes and farmers’ markets, brown bag and happy hour; the daily ritual of making coffee using our antique coffee grinder; these mingle nicely with the spontaneous: cooking dinner with the housemates, listening to the Sox game with friends, going to concerts at the Union, walking around the city, a late breakfast at a greasy spoon. The undercurrent of schoolwork is there — always reading to be done, always papers to be planned and written — but in the autumn light none of it seems insurmountable. The cider from the farmers’ market is good, and I have hopes for Northern Spies (and baseball) come October.

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