I could feel it in the way the wind carried mist off Drumheller Fountain to my skin before it could evaporate in the weakening sunlight; could smell it in the September-red leaves:

Today was a day for an Autumn coat.

Not a track jacket or cardigan or my new gold scarf. Autumn hung heavy in the air like the full red berries along the Burke Gilman; boots are everywhere, on par with handbags as a fashion-minded female obsession; I replaced my Ginger gloss with a reddish Khiels' balm -- a changing of the guards purely for my own entertainment.

Lucky for me, I've been preparing for this day since the Brooks Brothers Factory Store spring sale. This weekend I'm visiting the outlet stores up north again. Although I'm hoping for boots, maybe I'll find something fantastic on out-of-season clearance -- somehow, though, I just can't imagine having a heart attack over a springy pastel sweater. Maybe it's residual back-to-school excitement, my November birthday, or an affinity for leaves and rain -- but nothing quite matches the dramatic/romantic/transformative charm of Autumn and its dress code.