It seems the end of September has already arrived — the time of year I begin dreaming of wool and blankets and fires and colored leaves and long pants with sweaters, only to remember I live in central Texas, Summer’s kingdom. The kids played in the sprinklers today, which seemed appropriate for the ninety degree weather we had this week, and I found myself peeling layers as the day went on, realizing I cannot actually will Fall to come by wearing Fall-ish clothing. But I am trying. I mourn this missing season every year, lamely ordering a special pumpkin-spiced latte iced because I can’t stand the idea of sitting in my 80 degree home drinking warm frothed milk or passing by and ignoring the large round pumpkins, knowing they’d rot long before we made it to carving season. I know. If Mark were to chime in here, he’d mockingly tell me these are first-world problems, and he’s right. Then he’d proceed to tell me how wonderful Texas is because we’re never freezing or having to shovel snow. But. No. Fall.

The only true sign we have of Fall’s nearness: our trees are hailing acorns. Hailing being the only appropriate word. If you drop by our home, take cover. Or at least, don’t look to the sky. In a lame attempt to cherish my favorite season, this afternoon the kids and I scoured the driveway and lawn for acorns still attached to their “hats.” We collected our treasures in cups, dumping them out to examine the variety of colors and sizes. Pleased with our findings, we talked briefly about the acorns’ job and why the tree hails so many of them. Then we wiped our sweaty faces and headed indoors for the air conditioning. Come, Fall, come!