A very specific coldness crept into the air, one reminiscent of pumpkin spice teas, axes chopping wood in preparation for what the Farmer’s Almanac predicted, “the worst yet”, and home-cooked stews with warm bread and butter. Ever more bizarre costume designs appeared in stores, urging the collective consciousness to reach its full creative capacity; runners fretted about how to dress appropriately in layers; and that orange, gray, and white spotted cat started hanging around again, eyes longingly pleading to step inside, just for a minute. Fingers almost numb, she typed the words slowly, letting them sift down into her subconscious mind, adjusting to the idea:

Fall had arrived.

Not gradually, not with clues or banners or RSVP’s announcing its arrival, but tout de suite–a super-ninja martial arts master landing in the middle of a city street, origin unknown. She liked its style. No false pretenses of maybe there, maybe not. No teasing gusts of autumn winds on a ninety degree day. Just suddenly there: raw, unedited, real.

Materializing out of thin air, air descending from snow-capped Machu Picchu mountains, air breathing new life into the world, air requiring slippers for bare feet, the seasoned martial arts master was smart. It knew what it was doing. After all, super-ninjas encompassed the wisdom of the ages. They intuitively understood the matrix of the world’s modern technology. They embraced a mental sagacity others could only dream of. They were always two steps ahead. Of course, this was in part due to the fact that they could also run and leap and bound and somersault and do splits in mid-air.

But even super-ninjas got cold. And boy, was it cold today, she thought. Fall had definitely arrived.

Let Project Super-Ninja commence.