You are fall. You are crunching leaves and cider and the smell of apples and anticipation. You are fluffy sweaters and heavy jeans and old — old scarves and hats; made of dreams or maybe memories. You are leaf piles and the last bike rides of the year. You are wind picking up and twirling your hair; singing a quiet song just for you. You are rosy cheeks and foggy breath and eyes like apple cider donuts — topped with cinnamon and brown sugar. You are sweet as maple candy and unexpected as an apple on a teacher's desk. You are old and new; eternal and gone. You are you. You are fall.