Back to School and the Beginning of Autumn

The tram rattled past brick townhouses and tree-lined boulevards, their leaves just beginning to shift into shades of amber and rust. It was the first Monday of September, and the city pulsed with that special kind of energy - backpacks bouncing, bicycles weaving through traffic, parents shepherding children across cobbled streets.

For Sophie and Stefan, walking their two kids to school had become its own little ritual. This year felt different—Karl was starting his first year of secondary school, while little Maria clutched her new satchel with both hands, proud to finally join her brother at the “big” school. Their shoes clicked on the pavement, the air cool but full of promise.

“Smells like autumn,” Stefan remarked, as the scent of roasted chestnuts drifted from a vendor already setting up on the corner. Sophie smiled. “And harvest,” she added, squeezing Maria’s hand.

The children were buzzing with excitement, pointing out shop windows decorated with apples, plums, and baskets of pears. The city, though urban and bustling, carried autumn in small details: wreaths of dried corn at the market stalls, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the chatter of parents exchanging recipes for soups and stews they’d soon be cooking.

After the drop-off, Sophie and Stefan lingered by the school gate, watching the children disappear into the courtyard. “Every year feels like a beginning,” she whispered.

“And a season,” Stefan replied. “Weekends are coming. Apple picking, pumpkin bread, cider…” He trailed off, already picturing the family bundled in scarves, wandering through the orchards just outside the city. Their harvest rituals had become as important as school itself - chilly mornings spent gathering fruit, afternoons baking together, evenings by candlelight with the scent of spice drifting through the house.

As they walked back toward the tram, the sunlight broke through the clouds, gilding the rooftops and casting long, warm shadows on the street. The new school year had begun, the city was alive, and autumn was waiting - its rituals, its warmth, and its quiet joy ready to be gathered, one weekend at a time.