If fall were a dessert, it would be apple hazelnut frangipane pie bites. Flaky pie crust, gooey hazelnut frangipane, thinly sliced apples with just enough bite to them, and an ample dusting of fragrant cinnamon. This is fall, folks, in the best form there is – the sweet edible kind.
Is it weird that I prefer ‘fall’ to ‘autumn’, but cannot imagine describing the yellow, red, and orange leaves swirling in the wind in any way other than ‘autumnal’? As a non-native English speaker I like to pretend that I am entitled to pick and choose words from British and American English as I please. But regardless of how you want to call it, there is something majestic about this season. While some may perceive it as the season of dying, falling off, giving up, I always think of it as nature’s last hurrah before it gets shrouded in a white fluffy blanket (or a grey wet blanket, if you’re in the UK). There is an undeniable charm in the changing colour scheme of the forests, a subtle quirkiness in the crunch crunch crunch beneath you feet as you stomp through the colourful heaps of leaves, and a mirthful lightness as you kick through those same heaps and the leaves flap erratically around you.