It's still early September, one of those perfectly clear days where the sky is crystalline and really, truly, sky blue.
You know the blue I mean; it's the one that comes in the giant 64-pack of Crayola crayons that you only get at the beginning of the school year. It's the shade called "Blue Sky", and only in the spring and fall do you actually get that perfect colour in the sky overhead in Canada.
The summer sky - especially in this part of the country - is often a washed out, slightly-yellow-tinged shade, a consequence of humidity and pollution. And the winter sky is equally insipid, equally washed out, but tinged with an icy grey touch, as if a faint layer of hoar frost is between the earth and the sun.
Today is the day that promises fall; fiery red maples that match my hair, brilliant yellows on gingko trees, the bright orange of the serviceberry. Cashmere sweaters and pashminas, my leopard print jacket, and the butter soft leather of my favourite red gloves.
And impending doom for the ragweed - which can't come soon enough for me.