A Rain of Orange and Gold

We finally had an Autumn. I don't know if it will come again, but for one day here the trees exploded, the ground rustled like paper beneath our feet, and we remember what it is to dream beneath a rain of orange and gold.

When you get a day like this, finally, you don't hesitate. You pick up your things and you go, just get outside as fast as you can to breath it in, to let every color wash over you and permeate every cell so that when the weather turns again (and you already know it will, and soon) your body will remember it, remember the colors and the smells and feel of the sun and the wind bite your face at the same time, and you'll store it away as the thing that reminds you of your youth more than anything else.

Every day we collect another memory, a moment beheld by the eye, another picture you frame in your mind, another image that will tint and and fade to the color of a rose piano, and the smells of cocoa and peppermint and sugar herald a change as sure as the first falling snow.

Am I maudlin or merely sentimental as the approach of fatherhood mixes with the holidays?