Journal Entry of a GenXer

It takes all five senses to take Fall in

October 3, 2025

Fall has a way of slipping in quietly—one morning, the air just feels different. Not cold exactly, but crisp, like it’s been filtered overnight. I stepped outside today and it hit me all at once: that familiar scent of dried leaves and distant woodsmoke, the kind that makes you pause and breathe a little deeper. The sky was that perfect shade of autumn blue, stretched wide and clean, like it had been rinsed clear of summer’s haze.

There’s something grounding about this season. The world slows down, just a little. The chaos of summer simmers into routine, but there’s magic in the transition. I walked across the yard and heard the sharp, satisfying crunch of leaves under my boots—like nature’s own applause for simply being present. Every step felt like a memory.

The acorns have started falling, too—pinging and bouncing off the back porch like little notes from the trees, a reminder that the squirrels are busy and the earth is turning, whether I notice or not. It’s such a small sound, but somehow it’s one of the most comforting. There’s a rhythm to it, like nature is clearing its throat before the long quiet of winter.

I always feel more myself in the fall. Maybe it’s the return of sweaters and hot drinks, or maybe it’s just the permission to slow down and look inward. Summer is for being seen. Fall is for remembering who you are when no one’s looking.

Today I stood under the old maple out back and watched as a single red leaf spun its way down, landing at my feet. It felt like a gift. No fanfare—just a soft whisper: You're here. You're still here.