These are the days of miracle and wonder…
"The Boy in the Bubble," Paul Simon
Fall is here. (Note: well, it was when I wrote this out in longhand two days ago. The temps have turned hot again and we may set a heat record tomorrow. But the spirit of the season has moved into my life and I know the cool days will return soon.)
The nights are cool now and crickets dominate the air waves.
The fair is in town for the week.
The canning is done for the year.
The finches have picked over the rudbeckia, now sere and brown. The ornamental cherry and the dogwood are loaded with fruit.
When I go walking, the first leaves of fall crunch underfoot.
Monday night we had homemade soup with fresh cornbread (also from scratch), a salad for Warren, and some of the last of the garden tomatoes for me. It was the first bean soup of the fall.
This is my favorite season. In the fall, I gather up small moments in great bunches.
Every day is a good day.
Especially if it starts like this: