It's that time of year again. The mornings are getting crisp. The evenings are turning a little bit chilly. I still wear shorts when I go out to catch the horses at dawn, but I wrap a sweatshirt around my waist just in case. The flies are gone. The grass is extra damp before the sun dries it out. Everything smells fresh and clean and somehow a little bit old, too. Familiar.
The leaves haven't changed color or dropped. They won't do that for a while, but even so I still know what's coming. And like every year before this one, I'm still excited about it. I'm excited to look out my window and see this:
I can't wait to wrap my hands around a mug of hot chocolate, either first thing in the morning or late at night right before bed when I'm cozied up on the sofa with the hubby and the dogs.
My favorite outfit to wear in the entire world is leggings, a chunky sweater, and boots. Needless to say I can't wait for the weather to turn cold enough to pull that off. Don't even get me started on the scarves and the coats and the silly hats.
|No, this is NOT me. However, this is how I|
envision I look every time I put on a
big comfy sweater.
And I love to write in the fall. I love to write outside, where I can smell the fresh air and watch the leaves fall. I love to imagine Thanksgiving and Christmas right around the corner. Last Christmas a friend called me up asking where he could buy my books for his mother. I don't know if he ended up getting them or not, but the memory still gives me the warm and fuzzies.
Suffice it to say, fall rocks my socks.
And I can't wait for it to get here.