The trees are not dying.

They are losing their leaves. It's called Fall. Oh, right, Fall. I don't have many clear memories of fall, other than when I was about two and I was in my front yard in Alaska with my dad. I have some baby pictures in which I'm eating crackled crimson leaves, but nothing concrete in my mind. So now, in New England, I'm learning about Fall and all the acclimation and assimilation that comes with it. Last night we had an enormous, cold thunderstorm. This morning it is cloudless and brisk. And, perhaps the best thing of all: I can leave my dormitory and go to breakfast (walking, I may add) and not end up drenched in sweat. What a world.