It’s my favorite time of the year. The morning radio presenters have been counting down the days over the radio all week. Now that it’s finally here, I can hardly contain my wide grin. Surrounding me, the last of the changing leaves dance onto the dry dirt, revealing skeletal branches.

Children in blue and green coats playfully shove each other, their stomachs following the scent of warm cinnamon. Turning around, I watch the young musician tap his foot in time to his band-mate’s drum beat. A guitar case lies open with crumpled up dollar bills scattered against the red velvet interior.

Across the pavement, groups of strangers all move about in large masses, unable to stay in place. A young mother strategically maneuvers some plastic bags from one arm to the other, all without waking her tired infant. A young girl with curly pig tails tugs at the bottom of the woman’s sweater, a pumpkin half as large as she is, wrapped tightly to her chest.

Squeezing past them, I see groups of men forming a line, each waiting their turn. Every few minutes, I watch as they turn around to face the sun, its bright warmth the same golden hue as the petals awaiting in the many black containers.

From the corner of my eye, I spot my favorite treat. The scent of ripe cherries with other spices envelopes me, suddenly reminding me of my grandmother’s kitchen. Reaching into my purse, the woman across from me waits patiently, her frail fingers resting peacefully in her lap. Her cash register chimes as it slides open and my fingers trace along each container, looking for the one that’s on the edge of overflowing.

Even amongst all of the laughter and joking, softened tones and eyes that sparkle and gleam, everything is calm. Soaring high above the milky clouds, a perfectly angled formation of geese fly overhead on their migration path.

Making the journey back to my car, endless colors surround me on each side. It’s like walking through a rainbow. Fresh herbs lay delicately in bundles, their bright green a stark contrast to the otherwise brown and yellow atmosphere.

The crunch of the gravel comforts me as I take one last mental picture before getting inside my car. A gentle breeze tickles at my neck, sending a rush of goose bumps down my arms. Clutching all of my plastic bags closer to my chest, the scent of honey crisp apples, crisp air and wood smoke follow me home.