Fall foliage has been hesitant to make its brilliant debut this warmer-than-usual season. But as the smooth gradients of red and yellow gradually begin to wash over my neighborhood’s lush elm and maple branches, the chilly air reminds me that it was worth the wait. After all, I haven’t seen the leaves change colors in 10 years.
For the past decade, autumn has largely slipped past my radar, with beach-friendly temperatures persisting far past the sound of the shofar — and lingering until a desperate nation of burnt yellow fields welcomes “wintry” rains in mid-November. Yet this year, I’ve suddenly traded 80 percent humidity for 80 percent aridity, pavement poop piles for compulsory compost collection and strangers-in-your-face for a daunting amount of personal space. My Sabra husband and I — with toddler and baby in tow — moved this summer from Rehovot, Israel, to Boulder, Colo., to pursue professional fellowships, and in doing so found ourselves in an alternate universe.