But ask the maple tree. It will tell you fall begins the first night the air smells like chilled iron and woodsmoke. Ask the pumpkin patch—it knows fall starts when morning dew feels less like a bath and more like a dare. Ask your own shadow, stretching longer in the late afternoon, suddenly in a hurry. Ask the squirrel, suddenly frantic.
Here’s a short, reflective piece on the timing of fall:
So when is fall? It’s already here—just before you admit it.