The official start of Fall.
Most locals in this quiet, lakeside community judge by the sudden nip in the mountain air. Others watch the foliage shift to vibrant yellows, oranges and reds. Still others, the most boring of the bunch, wait for the calendar to mark the occasion.
But not her.
She sits on the back porch, knitting oversized mittens for her numerous grandkids while sneaking sips of her bourbon and ginger ale.
Only when she catches that unmistakable whiff – cigar smoke from her long-deceased husband – does she welcome the new season.
And only then does she feel him again.
The Weekday One Hundred 