Prospect Park, Autumn 2016

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To me, fall has always been the most wonderful time of the year. This started as a little tike when I learned what fall was and assumed my late September birthday, right after school started, was in the fall. Even when I realized it was on the trail of summer (boo hiss), my ardor has persisted. I love everything: the dry scent of the leaves’ underbellies, the first sign of white steam off a coffee outside, the anticipation of burst of color––and the reality of a lone tree here and there boiling itself red.
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I love the days with no humidity, warming apple cider on the stove, eating extra pie crust and raw apples with melted sugar pre-pie.
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Our little Brooklyn Bridge park doesn’t turn much in the fall, so each year we try to take one afternoon in Prospect Park if we can, a short 30 minute subway ride away.

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There’s not a whole lot to tell you about this jaunt at all, just the burnt colors of the rainbow, the last fireworks of the year before the snows.

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We walked a longer and different route than ever before, wrapping down and around the Prospect Park Lake, before crossing the bridge just beside the Boathouse (Walker’s favorite building):

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Many of the leaves, despite being October 22nd, were still bright and boldly green. New York rarely has the all-out colorfest I crave.

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But I’ll take what I can get, the few steps I can find through leaves blown into a dip in the lawn, pushing their aged scent up my way.
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The sad news is that I’m going to post this even though I know it’s sappy and overdone.
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All the angst from the summer is blowing off and we are in love with New York again.

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