Fall Is. . .

. . . a time for hot apple cider and the tangy snap of cinnamon. A season of whispering cold, trickling smoke, and utterly schizophrenic winds.

Mornings when I wake up toasty warm under the comforter and have the luxury of deciding whether to huddle there awhile longer, or burst out into the chilly day and fill it with sparks.

Leaves crackling, smooshing, fluttering, and blowing. A time when every fallen leaf has a story and its own distinct face.

A time for packing away memories of the summer, opening last year’s “leavings” chest, and pulling out new ideas and old acquaintances.

The gleam of golden afternoon light on dark wood, and blue glass vases full of chrysanthemums.

The memory that, once again, I will probably never get around to planting pansies and snapdragons for winter, but that I’ll still enjoy thinking about it.

Now. How to turn all of that into color.

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