Here is a thing I love about New Yorkers: They draw hard and fast lines.
Here is another thing I love about New Yorkers: One of those hard lines is autumn.
Labor Day comes, and when it leaves, it takes with it all of summer's lingering. Temperatures and calendars matter little to the truest of New Yorkers. Tuesday after Labor Day, the splash pads are turned off. The next day, school begins. By Thursday, even in the face of blistering sun and 90-degrees, legs disappear into jeans and boots in preparation for Fashion Week. There is buzzing about fall getaways in the country to see the leaves. Coffee shops fall victim to the PSL phenomenon.
After a year and a half in the city, there are times I have questioned if I am really made to be a New Yorker. But in autumn, New York and I feel quite kindred, especially yesterday morning when I woke up in a chill, the crispy breeze blowing my curtains straight back into the bedroom to reveal the golden light of a later rising sun and the magical music of trees turning fire red and orange.