“Hello, Autumn,” Clara whispered. And the word felt right with the capital A, as if she had finally addressed an old friend by her true name.
Clara opened her mouth to explain grammar, but something stopped her. She looked at the drawing again. The capital A stood there, bold and bright, like a tiny crown on the season’s head. should autumn be capitalized
The unease began one October evening when her nephew, Leo, handed her a drawing. He was seven, with jam on his chin and a fierce sense of wonder. The drawing showed a lopsided tree with orange and red crayon scribbles, and beneath it, in wobbly letters: My Frend Autumn. “Hello, Autumn,” Clara whispered
She signed her name and, for the first time in her career, added a postscript: She looked at the drawing again
Clara smiled. She didn’t correct it. She bought a slice of pumpkin bread instead, and ate it standing in a swirl of leaves, under a sky the color of a capital letter.
Perhaps grammar is not about correctness. Perhaps it is about attention. And Autumn, I think, has earned ours.