Candy corn

In the stores I see everything that reminds me of fall, of the start of another school year...spiral bound notebooks; pocket folders in primary colors; packages of pencils, their ends still squared-off, unsharpened. Even my children, not yet school-aged, sense excitement and anticipation in these overly filled store shelves. My boys grasp at pads of colored construction paper, binders decorated with Spiderman or Ninja turtles, and boxes of crayons. I, too, cannot resist, and buy them each a 64-count box of Crayolas, the type with the plastic sharpener tucked into the cardboard, and even as these small cubes, these brightly-colored packages filled with my own memories of childhood rest in the bottom of our shopping cart, I swear I can smell warm wax and feel those smooth wrappers with labels declaring "burnt umber" or "violet" between my fingers.

So thrilling is this small purchase, I scan the shelves for other signs the season is changing. I pass over the notebooks, the binders, the folders, the stacks and reams of lined paper, drawing paper, and doodle pads. There is one item in particular I want to find. And though it makes no logical sense this item would be tucked among the erasers, the white-out pens, and highlighter markers, my eyes probe the school supplies all the same. Just as I imagined the smell of those boxed crayons, my tongue now anticipates a sweetness, a taste so thick with sugar my teeth almost ache. I long for the one food from my childhood that tastes of fall, of the beginning of school and the end of summer's lucious oaks and maples. Candy corn.