It’s autumn. Let’s wear socks.

Let’s eat chili and pasta and chicken pot pie. We’ll make pumpkin bread and apple crisp and put cinnamon in everything.

Let’s walk. We’ll go down by the river, where the crunchy cottonwood leaves make a satisfying sound. We’ll walk through the woods, where the maples and the sassafras flaunt leaves of gold and orange, purple and red. We’ll walk through the neighborhood. There’s a katsura tree on the corner, and it smells like cotton candy.

Let’s gather pawpaws from the pawpaw patch. I want to taste their creamy custard—banana-like and smooth, but with a hint of wildness.

Let’s say goodbye to the monarchs as they sail through the garden one last time. We’ll say hello to praying mantises, as big as Gila monsters, pregnant and plump. We’ll consult woolly bears on the severity of the upcoming winter and debate their prognostications.

Let’s knock down persimmons from their branches. They’ll fall with a soft plunk on the grass, and we’ll gorge on their jelly, sweet as brown sugar.

Let’s watch some football.