Temperatures have dropped from the nineties to the seventies in a matter of days. Football is available on TV almost any night of the week. I needed to take a sweater on our dinner-and-a-movie date last night.
It must be fall.
The leaves haven't turned yet. I'm still iffy on some of my students names. The A/C is still on. But summer is clearly on its way out.
Since I became a knitter, fall has a whole new meaning. Knitters live for fall. We watch the weather anxiously, awaiting the morning when the temperatures justify warm socks, a scarf, or a sweater layer. Fall means we can wear our handiwork proudly, reveling in its beauty and warmth.
Fall means time spent outdoors requires some extra preparation. Folks going to the game might want a hat or a muffler. We can provide that. Fall means that gift-giving season is right around the corner, the winter holiday conveniently timed for woolly comfort. For me, fall means trips to conferences, long meetings, classes, lectures, all places where needles can work away quietly and gradually, fashioning something beautiful to ward off the chill.
It must be fall. And for a knitter, fall is the reason for everything we do.