Crisp autumn air is flowing in the open door, invigorating and understated. Sunshine hides and then bursts into the room, reminding me of the last morning's drive to the airport last week, a lemon-green sunrise and a pale blue sky over a starred city. Ever since I've been home, the house has been filled with daisies, and littered with cups of tea.
The cat searches for new places to burrow into my collection of knitted afghans and wool blankets; just yesterday I whipped the cover off the bed to make it, and there she was, blinking at me from deep inside. She's feeling the autumn chill.
The leaves are turning and falling in gusts of wind, mirrored by flocks of excited birds in silhouette by the hundreds across the sky. I consider my new canary yellow tights, and bring my bin of warm clothes out to see what treasures I hid away last year. Tim and I explored new woods on a tandem bike, and I've been reading and reading. Did you know there's a cookbook of Georgia O'Keefe's recipes?
Fall has arrived.