Is autumn in Boone a color?...

There's something completely magical about October -- even in Florida.

OK, so the leaves here don't change color; the breezes don't turn crisp and chilly; we don't even get to experience that invigorating smell that permeates the air when a fireplace is lit for the first time in months. It's too early to dig into the bins beneath the bed in search of moth-eaten sweaters; too soon to schedule golf games at noon; and we're a lifetime away from a premature snow flurry, indicative of a chilly winter to come.

So what is it that makes October, and, in essence, the arrival of fall, so wondrous for me?

Memories.

Thank God for Jeremy's patience. He's not quite to the point yet of threatening my life if I "tell one more damn Appalachian/Boone/North Carolina in the fall story."

But I'm sure he must be getting close.

In my mind, they're great stories: Stories about football games in a stadium surrounded by majestic mountains, dotted with patches of burnt sienna, lush auburn and shimmering gold. (Sorry, the colors are far too awe-inspiring to be called red, orange and yellow.)

I've got stories about pumpkin beer in an underground cafe'; ones about walking out of my way to crunch wayward leaves that have fallen ahead of schedule from towering trees above; and even tales about smelling snow in the air before it has even thought of falling from the sky.

But my favorite stories, the ones I will always treasure, and the ones that make people want to toss me off the beautiful mountain overlooks I keep babbling about, are the ones about my friends.

I've been privileged in my life thus far to enjoy many spectacular moments: A first kiss with my true love; the first times I got to hold my brothers and sister; two graduations with all four of my parents, a handful of grandparents and my great-grandmother Grums nearby; the first time my puppy nuzzled his tiny head into the nape of my neck.

And now, the moments of coffee and conversation in a cozy coffee house, the times we walked, instead of driving, because the weather was too nice, the cooking together and the Frisbee games on the lawn occupy my mind each time a taunting wisp of cool air slides through my hair.

It was around this time last year when I looked up to see a grayish sky, and that cruel wind sent me a chilly reminder, raising goosebumps on my arms and legs. It was about the same time that a frigid tear streaked across my wind-whipped cheek.

But this year is different.

This year, I can't stay away. This month, I'm going back to where the memories were made.

My friends are all different people now. I'm a different person now. Yet, we're all going back, seemingly for the same reason: Not to remember, but to make new memories we can store up and unwrap on those warm or cold fall nights whenever we need them -- wherever we are.