The fall is my favorite time of year. I don't see it as an end to a summer, but the beginning to an unmatched seasonal bliss, called winter. Raised, for the most part, in northern Minnesota I became used to the harshness of nature and in doing so was forced to learn of its intrinsic beauty. Each grove of trees is a new masterpiece and each mile a modern lecture in preservation unequaled by even the most blessed orator of today.

Now that I have left the permafrost of Minnesota and traveled this country extensively I've seen the spectrum of nature. Colorado mountains to the deserts of California all unintentionally compete in such an amazing race towards perfection that I sometimes find it overwelming to even write about it.

But, here I am in Virginia and this morning was the first frost that I've noticed for the year. The cold air and the misty haze hung about as the Bean and I walked out. I stopped her briefly and made her breathe.

"That's good air sweets."

She turned those ice blue eyes and asked me, "Daddy, it's cold. What's gooder air mean."

"Better, would be the word, not gooder."

I gave her that you-know-better look about the word and went on, "Good air is just a saying baby. Just a reminder that fall is here and that it's time to change."

Of course, it was good cold air so I skipped down the stairs from our apartment and started the car, turning on the defrost to full.

She had more questions when she got in and buckled up, but I cut it off because we were a bit late. I'll answer them Saturday. She's old enough now to start gaining some respect for the earth, nature, and its seasons. I'm not much of an enviromentalist, but I do love the way mother nature goes about cleansing itself, preparing, and enduring hardships that would consume humanity whole.

She ate her apple on the way to my sisters and I made a mental note to buy her more hair things (scrunchies I believe they're called) because I was out of them. I think they end up at her mothers, but because her mother never does her hair before school, they never come back. Not to big a deal as they are relatively cheap.

On the way she drew designs on the window and we played the BANG game. Whenever we'd stop at a light we'd shoot eachother and go limp. When the light turned green the game was over. Although sometimes I could see her eyeing the lights, waiting with her finger cocked and mouthing the words "BANG" to herself in restless anticipation. I don't consider it cheating, just practicing - like shadowboxing.

The Fall is coming, not hastily or even with any intrusion. Just a gradual shift from warm to cool, bright to not-so-bright - and comfort comes with it. Comfort and a bit of nostalga, at least for this northern boy.