and ramblings on everything in between
One of my favorite things about living in the Midwest is its propensity to slip from one season to the next every few months. All seasons are not loved equally, but I can say that we’re in each one long enough that the next one is eagerly awaited as signs of nature’s renewal cycle meets me at the at the door.
Fall, despite its unending signs of life withering into a dormant or death state, fills me with hope. Without the summer haze, I can see more clearly, I can breathe more deeply, I can become more me.
It has me quieting down earlier at night, going about my evening in low lights, brewing more tea.
It has me in a constant mood to make something, baking breads and cooking big pots of soup.
It makes me want to go for long walks in the cool air, searching for large piles of leaves alongside the road that I can crunch through.
It has be throwing more blankets on the bed, waking in the middle of the night to roll into a cool spot in the sheets, refusing to get up early so I can stay cocooned under the comforter.
It has me taking a deep breathe of cold, damp air as I leave for work before the sun has risen. I always take a moment to stare at the stars that still dot the sky above me as I walk to my car, the chill only making them brighter.
It has me burning more candles, seeking the warmth of my family, finding myself on the couch with a book for just a little bit longer.
It has me thirsting for cider and fresh picked apples and being surrounded by fields. It has me missing corn growing in a row.
It has me eager for long nights and cold days and quiet conversation around a fire. Or no conversation around a fire, because sometimes that is just as powerful.
It has me thankful for the excitement of it all starting over again. A second, third, ninetieth chance to do it right.
It has me filled with gold and red and orange, and a secret hope to keep it all close to my heart.
It has me stopping to see beauty in an unlikely place and every place I look.