And then, suddenly, it was autumn in Atlanta. It was 43 degrees when I woke up this morning, a temperature so far removed from anything even a week ago that I assumed it was a mistake. Last Sunday I was uncomfortably warm walking around -- now stepping outside wearing shorts is a shock to the system. It feels pretty fantastic. After the oppressive summer, the air feels alive and brisk.
I walked out of work a few nights ago, and the weather had broken in the intervening hours -- suddenly there was that chill in the air, and all of those remembered smells that I associate with fall. And it struck me: I don't know what those smells are. They're just ... fall. A hint of something burning, a hint of some spice, but what produces them? Decaying leaves? A vast pumpkin patch that I don't know about? A city-wide incense burning?
Perhaps, given the state of the city's teams, it's just the scent of failure.