"Does it smell like snow yet?!" Today I learned what snow smells like. A little bit clean, a lot of crispness, a sweet smell of winter romanticism, and if you breathe deeply enough, just the tiniest hints of melancholy.
There’s a kind of quiet tranquility in autumn. Leaves shun their spring green and announce the arrival of fall with bright orange and yellow banners. The clocks change, night falls sooner, cider is made. Recover from the chaos of summer, from the impatient spring, let your leaves fall where they may, get back to the bare branches. Winter will come, and wash you with virgin white snow, and by spring you will be ready for the year—clean and bright.
“It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen.”—Raymond Chandler