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Depending on who you ask, autumn has already started in New England. Officially, seasons are based on the length of the day, which means it won't really be fall until September 23 and the autumnal equinox, but for many people, summer ended with their Labor Day cookouts and beach trips, filled with grilled meats and beer, that suntan lotion smell of coconut and medicine left to be washed off in their morning shower.

By it's nature, autumn is somewhat of a second-class season. Summer and winter get top billing. People wait all year so they can do things that can only be done in those seasons (This isn't entirely accurate, as things like skiing/snowboarding and going to the beach start and end outside of their respective seasons, but people associate these activities with these seasons, and that's sort of all that matters.). By human nature, we tend to focus on the extremes of any particular group (see also: celebrity train wrecks, reality television {some overlap between these two}, weather patterns, the tea party). Spring and fall are basically just there to get us from one to the other.

Between the two backup seasons, fall gets the bum deal. Despite being little more than constant rain and pollen, spring gets everyone thinking about summer and how exciting that will be. By the time fall rolls around, summer is over, the beaches are closing, before you know it winter will be here, and no one likes winter (This is also an inaccurate statement, except no one is excited about winter until it's right on top of us. Ask someone in August how they feel about winter and they hate it, because at that moment, all winter means is that we will be cold and covered in snow.). Autumn has long been used as a metaphor for aging and sadness. The prime of the year is behind us, and all we have to do is look around to see reminders that we are all withering towards a barren and cold conclusion, an inevitable end on the horizon. All the new life and rebirth of spring has run it's course, and fall is just our small chance to brace for the coming winter.

This seems like a good time to mention that autumn is, without question, my favorite season. And not because I get some perverse kick out of all the crap I just mentioned. There are reasons on top of reasons that I love fall. As soon as the heat and humidity of summer breaks, I feel like a different person. It's almost as if I spend most of the summer thinking only of ways to keep myself from turning into a puddle, and fall allows me to start thinking about everything else again. Last night was the best night of sleep I've had in months, and that is due almost entirely to the cool breeze coming through my window. It was flat-out cold in my bedroom this morning, and I loved it.

Fall also brings with it the start of football. I love football, love my New England Patriots, and love watching Belichick and Brady be the best at what they do. More than that, though, I love the Sundays I spend at my grandfather's house watching the games with him and his son, three generations of Belair men together, watching their team, eating and drinking and bs'ing about whatever it is we decide to bs about. If you've kept up with these posts at all, you'll know that I have a certain relationship with sports and my father. Adding my grandfather to the mix is about the only thing that could make it better.

In the autumn of 2003, I was going through basic training for the U.S. Air Force, which takes place in San Antonio, Texas. Autumn in San Antonio is a lot like summer in New England, only hotter. I tried to explain what I was missing out on back home, and most of my fellow trainees had no idea what I was talking about. There were a few guys from New England, though, and they all knew what I knew: there is nothing like fall in New England. Forget what you've heard about the leaves and any sort of festival based around candy apples or pumpkins. All fun things in their own right, but their is a smell to autumn here that cannot be described. It's crisp and refreshing and cool. I know that all sounds like a terrible add for a Sprite knockoff, but I don't know how else to describe it, and I know that those words don't do it justice.

While I was in basic, my significant other at the time wrote to me regularly. Mail is absolutely the best part of basic training. The days when the mail gets backed up (you are the lowest priority mail recipients on base) are awful, but are made up for on the days when you go back to your bunk with a stack of letters. One of the letters she sent me was about how the leaves were changing and how nice everything looked. She knew how much I loved autumn, and sent a second envelope along containing a few leaves she had found and thought I would like. A small piece of home while I was away. It was sweet and touching and I loved it and loved her for doing it. The rest of our flight (the name for a group of trainees when you're in basic) finally began to understand how much we loved fall in New England when my "letter" became the most popular thing in the room, at least among the guys from the area. Everyone took their time with it, each of them examining the leaves and breathing in the scent inside the envelope. If you know the scent I've been talking about, this won't seem weird to you at all.

I'm sure there will be moments this autumn when the cool air turns to cold and I'll miss the summer sun. Or a night that seems to come too early, and the realization that it will only continue to get earlier for the coming months. It's then that I'll try to think about Sunday afternoons, and of the changing leaves, and of New England air floating through Texas. Autumn is my season. An in-between season defined by what it isn't, but knows what it has to offer.