The fall sun here at Calvin reminds of a world that's not fenced by the requirements of exams. The air is sweet, soda sweet, and tickles noses as if by little bubbles: it is exceedingly crisp, even uncomfortably. The light is so bright.
The last of hammocks here and there are slung, leveraging the last well-warmed afternoons. And guerrilla golfers from first Huizenga swing wedges on the green.
It's a season of naps snuck in between classes, nights like long hills slowly to be climbed. Mornings that begin in darkness, evenings that deepen early. The same opened window early raises goosebumps, later brings a room to pleasantness. It's a season that demands coffee and farmers' markets.