Fall Fragrance

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Abstract

d="38fc">And it is to die for. I repeat, it is to die for.</p><p id="2a81">And, in our household, always on birthdays. Nary a birthday without one. Never. None.</p><p id="67e8">We, of course, had five such cakes through the year: Mom, Dad (both in February), Yours Truly (in October), and sisters Lili-Ann (in January), and Pia (in November). And since my cake was, along with a small mountain of presents (giving Christmas a run for its money), served up in October, for me, autumn was a great, birthday- and cake-including season.</p><p id="5469">Not the season to say goodbye to (and morn) summer but the season to say hello to cake (and presents).</p><p id="4d24">Now, in all honestly, I haven’t a clue if this has anything at all to do with the fact that I remember my childhood autumns as small symphonies of fragrance, everything so alive in its annual dying, but perhaps it does.</p><p id="16fb">Some hate autumn. The season of a million deaths. Depression roams the countryside. A mood like that would not be open to fragr

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ance appreciation, methinks. I loved autumn. A mood like that would be open to appreciating the sea of fragrances served up all around. Methinks.</p><p id="8c6e">Yes, the smell is a little on the musty side, but musty can be nice, it is close to earth, our true mother, and it is kind of warm if you ask me.</p><p id="1ac9">And very, very real.</p><p id="1e75">And for all its death, very alive.</p><p id="7075">© Wolfstuff</p><div id="d59a" class="link-block"> <a href="http://wolfstuff.com"> <div> <div> <h2>Wolfstuff</h2> <div><h3>So, who am I? Really really. I could tell you that I was born in northern Sweden during a snow storm, and subsequently…</h3></div> <div><p>wolfstuff.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*YZDB07ZOn2QOVt2e)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Death Comes Alive

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The misty, musty fragrances of fall That death can be so alive

The fragrances of fall, they are a universe all of its own. As pungent, as alive as any spring or summer’s day.

I was born in October, and since birthdays, when and where I grew up, was a big thing — lots of presents, and always the greatest cake on the planet: the Swedish Black Forest Cake (Schwarzwaldtårta).

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, a Swedish Schwarzwaldtårta is related to the traditional German Black Forest cake in name only. The Swedish (much superior) version consists of layers of meringue with whipped cream in between. The whole cake is also covered with whipped cream and decorated with flakes and flakes of chocolate.

And it is to die for. I repeat, it is to die for.

And, in our household, always on birthdays. Nary a birthday without one. Never. None.

We, of course, had five such cakes through the year: Mom, Dad (both in February), Yours Truly (in October), and sisters Lili-Ann (in January), and Pia (in November). And since my cake was, along with a small mountain of presents (giving Christmas a run for its money), served up in October, for me, autumn was a great, birthday- and cake-including season.

Not the season to say goodbye to (and morn) summer but the season to say hello to cake (and presents).

Now, in all honestly, I haven’t a clue if this has anything at all to do with the fact that I remember my childhood autumns as small symphonies of fragrance, everything so alive in its annual dying, but perhaps it does.

Some hate autumn. The season of a million deaths. Depression roams the countryside. A mood like that would not be open to fragrance appreciation, methinks. I loved autumn. A mood like that would be open to appreciating the sea of fragrances served up all around. Methinks.

Yes, the smell is a little on the musty side, but musty can be nice, it is close to earth, our true mother, and it is kind of warm if you ask me.

And very, very real.

And for all its death, very alive.