Despite my trepidation at the task ahead, I relished every crunch of leaves underfoot, the bursts of red still on the trees, watery golden sunlight softening the crispness of the air as it washed over my skin. It was a perfect fall afternoon, the sky so clear it felt like being cradled inside a giant blue marble. There should have been a name for days like this, but all the ones I could think of—halcyon days, salad days—referred to summer, which struck me as unfair. Who needed the obvious charms of June when you could have the burnished richness of autumn?
