Apple Scent
There was one thing that signified the transition from summer to fall for the Batch boys. Not school, not a calendar date, and certainly not the unpredictable weather. No, the one thing made the change of seasons official was their mother's homemade apple tea.
It started as a smell, of spices and fresh fruit, enveloping them like a big hug as soon as they stepped in from adventures outside. Then it was a warmth holding their hands, the steaming liquid strained into the mugs they cupped so reverently, so patiently. Then it was a moment, a pause in time as they all gathered round the table waiting for the perfect sipping point. Sometimes they'd blow little breaths and watch the golden water ripple in response. Other times they'd allow their gazes to wander quietly out the window, their imaginations soon following.
And then finally, finally, it was a taste, simple but delicious, tickling with joy all the way down.
Those were the ingredients of fall. Warmth and hugs and daydreams and giggles.
Whether Beth knew it or not, that simple tea she threw together each year, of mere shredded apples and cinnamon sticks, would take such a significant hold in the hearts of her boys. Even as they aged, as schedules dispersed, as friends stole attention, as traditions fell off one by one in the avidity of growing up... and even as they eventually flew the nest... and eventually came back to create their own...
...a cup of warm apple tea at the start of fall was the one thing they still held on to.