Falling . . .

I love fall.

There is something so quiet and reflective about my favorite season. I love the changes that heighten my senses as summer turns to autumn.

I love the sound of the wind as it rustles the leaves. I love the way the wind stings when it hits my face. I feel alive on a windy day. Autumn's cold breezes waken a part of me that won't surface any other time of year.

I love the sights of fall. Colors seem crisper and brighter. The leaves on the trees with their riotous colors dance like flames in the air. The sky is always a brighter, clearer blue against those trees.

I love the textures of fall--the fuzzy sweaters, the brittle leaves, the bumpy lumpy gourds and pumpkins. I love the firm smooth texture of apples. The tastes and smells of fall overload my senses. Hot chili, hearty soups, and steaming apple cider make my mouth water. Fall always smells like cinnamon and pumpkin to me, but I also love the cold smell of the decaying leaves and dirt.

Okay, enough dreaming. It's time to face the piles of laundry and dishes.