it's right about time

Autumn landed yesterday. It was 3 pm in September, a Thursday, and it was perfect.

It came in on the north wind, blowing right into my backyard, turning only a few leaves the slightest of orange hues, but rustling them all in one cacophony of a blustery fit. A grey cloud cover came along from not far behind, and despite a three month memorable love affair with my sunny patio, I welcomed the gloomy canopy. Before the pavement became puddled, I ran out into the first plump drops to take a quick twirl on wool-socked tips of toes. Spiced cookies were immediately baked, mulled cider filled a big pot, its warm scent of clove, cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger boldly wafted through the house to a soundtrack of Patrick Watson while my sweetheart taught me a new game, Othello (a minute to learn... a lifetime to master!). 

It was perfect.


Nearly a year has passed since I've put this little blog to any use, and although I've started out on various "catch-up" posts, no matter how I approach it, summing up a years worth of events seems slightly arbitrary. Which is not to say it hasn't been an exciting adventure-filled twelve months, as it most certainly has. It's been a year built of moments like that of the arrival of fall; quiet, easy, still, simple and lovely. All mortared together in a mess of strengths and weaknesses that made themselves known during the many moments that were complicated, chaotic, hard, tear-filled, and ugly.

It was perfect.

The mulled cider is gone for now, but is certain to make many more appearances in the months to come. In its place are vegetables, herbs picked from the garden, and chicken bones, simmering into a stock on the stove for the soup we'll eat later while Bauer snuggles up by my feet, still cloaked in wool (don't worry, clean pair). It's raining, and the sneaky hound has cleverly turned my toes that are tapping to Hall and Oates'  No-can-do's into an ear rub-- you've got to admire his ingenuity. Soon he'll grow restless and won't want to take a walk because it's raining. But once he remembers how much he loves the smell of wet leaves on the ground, he'll be glad it's fall, too.

Autumn is here. It's 3 pm in September, a Friday, and it's perfect.