I've been smelling Autumn coming on lately. In the evenings especially. That thin crispness that comes with cool weather. I'm ready. Thankful even, this being the busiest and most social summer in recent memory. I welcome the oncoming cold and folding in. Autumn really is my favorite season anyway, right up until the greys and browns of November. Only then do I start longing for sunshine again, but there are the holidays to carry me through until January, by which time I'm most definitely ready to flee to a warm climate for vacation.
And I suppose I'll miss the summer produce. Between a mini -- and by "mini" I mean three plants -- personal garden, the local farmer's market, and an abundance of road-side farm stands, we've eaten rather well this summer. Every time I bite into a fresh cucumber or a cob of hot sweet corn I'm reminded why I love rural living so much. We may not have opera and grand theater, but the city's got nothing on food so fresh you can taste the sun in it.
This week's word is from a little modern British novel, Felix in the Underground by John Mortimer, I picked up on a sale some time ago and am just now getting around to reading. I can't decide if I like it, but I do keep picking it up so that's something.