Fragments of Fall

This year, autumn looks less Nora-Ephron-in-the-Upper-West-Side and more traveling. . . especially to places where fall doesn't exist.

All that means to me is going HAM on the autumnal moments when they arise. Like. . .

Making a pumpkin pie sans dairy on a Monday night, even if you’re a little sick, because a burst of energy and motivation washed over you, and let’s see how hard this really is, and more importantly, why not.

Drinking this tea, curled up with this book. Oh, this book.

Taking a walk whenever you can, even if it’s a five minute walk around the block. We seize every opportunity to taste crisp air on our face, and see the fall fits and dogs (and very often the dog fits). And to tend to our mental health, and nourish our physical body with the sweetness of slow movement. And to soak up the times when New York air is neither dripping with humidity nor cruelly frozen but just crisp. CRISP!!!!!

Meandering Central Park with a friend on a Saturday. And feeling like we could be any age, or all the ages in one—ensuring the walk is marked with the play of a child, the athleisure of an adult, all while noting to one another: “This is what we’ll do every day when we’re retired.”

Glorifying New York apples. Even if apple picking requires too many logistics and resources at your disposal, even if you aren’t baking anything with them, even if you’re just biting into one. It’s October, and you’re eating a New York apple—let that glory be.

Grounding yourself however you can. Because the air outside feels beautiful, and part of yourself knows the cold edge of winter awaits behind the corner. So you next, you get outside, you go dancing, you stay inside for tea and TV, you read a book, you check in on your people, you slowly plan your winter survival bucket list while you still have the kind of well-rested, refreshed energy that invites you to move and be creative and generous.