I've never really figured out which season I like the best, but autumn is definitely up there. The trees are aflame with color and there's something so wonderfully refreshing about crisp air hitting the bottom of your lungs. And then there are the memories of marching band that are inextricably linked to the fall: practices in the middle of my high school football field wreathed in fiery trees, frozen fingers struggling to move over cold keys, brisk morning practices bundled up in fleeces and Underarmour, bus rides in the dying light spent gossiping and singing and laughing with my best friends. It's so strange that it was such an important part of my life at one point and now it's autumn once again and here I am again, so far removed from dot books and my clarinet. But thus is life, I guess.
I ushered in the first day of fall with an apple crumble that always reminds me of my mother. She has an aversion to sweets and baking so it was a welcome surprise to come home from school to this in the oven one day when I was younger. As one of the few things she's ever baked, it's impossible to disassociate it from her.