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Two days ago, I broke a sweat carrying Brooklyn from my car (parked in one of the closest spots) up the stairs to our apartment - even under the shelter of the building, it was hot. Yesterday, it rained all day and when I finally ventured forth I immediately went back in for jeans and a cardi. It felt like fall. I sat on the balcony with my coffee and marshmallow dream bar and an appropriate magazine that coincidentally arrived in the mail that afternoon and relished the fact that it was almost too cool to be sitting outside.
I really try not to complain about specific seasons... I recognize that each one serves a purpose and all together they're a wonderful reminder of a God who keeps His promises. But that doesn't keep me from having a favorite. The crisp air, cool nights and connotations of campfires, back-to-school, hot tea on the back porch, boots (oh, the boots!) and jackets and brilliant leaves all wake me up and make me excited to go outside and do something - and then come back in and snuggle up with a book or some knitting. It's the glorious interval between the scorching heat of summer and the icy grip of winter, and it's something I celebrate every year.
It's still only mid-September here in the South, so I know this taste of autumn is just an appetizer. We still have some warm days ahead of us, but in the interim I'll polish my boots, start researching new hiking trails within day-tripping distance, and finishing up the scarf I'm knitting so that as soon as it gets consistently cool, I'll be ready.