I don't have a "favorite season" so much as I appreciate the high point of each one. Well, here we are at fall's end and the trees are afire with all the lovely warm colors of the spectrum from near-fluorescent yellow to deep reds. The apples have been picked. Pumpkins abound. Mulled cider scents the room with its spicy/fruity aroma. Outdoors, the smell of wood burning in neighbors' fireplaces adds a kind of warmth to the chilly evening air.

Color me parochial, but there's no fall like fall in New England. The fall seasons of my youth were spent in New York, where but for the public parks there's precious little foliage. I really appreciate the ability to walk around the neighborhood kicking up the leaves and not find garbage mixed into the leaf-piles.

Soon pies will be coming out of the oven. Fricassees chock full of vegetables from the late garden harvest simmer on the stove.

This is the first time in two years I've seen fall in color instead of black-and-white. I am enveloped in warmth.