Ask me in April what the best season is, and I might say spring, swayed by the return of baseball. But the kid in me insists it’s fall, which has powerful nostalgic associations: A new school year and wardrobe, the county fair and the Halloween carnival, high school football and its marching band soundtrack.

And perhaps the most potent olfactory trigger of all: the aroma of burning leaves.

Leaves provide the season with its colorful tapestry, an annual evolving palette. But leaves also give the season its name. Cast free of their moorings, leaves descend lazily to the earth below.

My two sycamores annually blanket my front yard with large, crisp discards. Walking through them is like treading on a layer of oversize Special K cereal.

The annual question: What, if anything, to do with them?

Back in my youth, the answer was simple for most folks: Burn ’em. That has fallen out of favor in many places, including Nashville. Ask for the reason, as I have, and you get pointed to the Metro Code and “open burning,” which is defined as “any fire from which the products of combustion are emitted directly into the open air without passing through a stack or chimney.”

I don’t want to get too far into the weeds on the topic, so I’ll just say that open burning of “detached tree limbs and leaves” requires a permit from the fire marshal. Among the requirements is that the burning “will take place at least 300 feet away from any adjacent lot or tract with a residential dwelling or other occupied structure.”

Not exactly a backyard option for most Nashvillians. (For some reason, Metro also has found it necessary to ban the burning of “any leaves, trash, refuse matter or other inflammable material on any sidewalk or pavement or in any street within the urban services district.”)

Eco-thinking also argues against placing leaves in plastic bags and disposing of them in landfills, where they can take decades to break down.

Also, The National Wildlife Federation reports, they will release the greenhouse gas methane. Of course, we don’t want to contribute to global warming.

That consideration aside, it also turns out that removal is not the best thing to do for a lawn, because decaying leaves provide nutrients for the soil and sundry benefits for the various inhabitants thereof. This, too, from the Wildlife Federation:

“Critters ranging from turtles and toads to birds, mammals and invertebrates rely on leaf litter for food, shelter and nesting material. Many moth and butterfly caterpillars overwinter in fallen leaves before emerging in spring.”

What’s recommended is to run a lawnmower or mulching device over the leaves to chew them up, then to either leave them in place for the grass or to work them into a garden plot.

None of which, of course, offers the wafting smell of my childhood: leaf immolation. Fortunately, there’s a potential loophole in Metro’s restrictions that allows for “a recreational fire.”

Metro Codes defines that as “the noncommercial burning of materials other than rubbish for pleasure, religious, ceremonial, cooking or similar purposes.”

I suggest that the burning of leaves clearly serves a pleasure and ceremonial purpose. It might even be religious, depending on how broadly worship is defined. Think of the leaf smoke as a sort of sanctifying incense, the container a domestic thurible.

Vestments would not be necessary. But a certain reverence would be appropriate, as befits a holy and sacred endeavor.

And a garden hose for post-service extinguishing would probably be a good idea, too.

Joe Rogers is a former writer for The Tennessean and editor for The New York Times. He is retired and living in Nashville.