I could tell, almost immediately, what today would be like.
We missed closing one window last night, as we usually do, and cool crisp air said good morning to me from my kitchen window.
It smells different.
Sharper. More jolting.
Coffee tastes better when it's hot billowing steam is caught in cool morning breezes, enjoyed, of course, from my front porch.
A foretaste of Autumn: This is what today is.
I soaked in warm sun on my neck, crisp air in my lungs. Frozen waffles were purchased yesterday, so my oldest giddily prepared breakfast. I pulled on an old pair of jeans, buried under capris and shorts, that I am glad to not pull on. I pulled on a funky green knit short frilly sweater; a recent consignment find. This is worn with a gut-flattening spandex white tank. I miss the feel of comfty jeans; knit sweaters that go past your wrists.
The day on the calendar may pronounce August 22nd, but I am in a September mood.
How You Know A Housewife Is In A Fall Mood:
~ she thinks upon all those summer projects, shrugs her mental shoulders and then hatches plans as to what to do "once the girls are in school".
~she wants to wash windows
~she must organize something (in today's case it was the girls' art room).
~she wants to cook/bake/preserve something (in today's case it was the roma tomatoes, picked and canned).
~ instead of weeding she pulls up a chair and watches her daughters act like monkeys in the back yard (because honestly, the neglected garden are so beyond help).
(girls acting like monkeys)
Yes, today was a foretaste of Autumn: and I liked it.
I want to buy mums in vibrant colors of yellow and red.
I want to bake sweet breads early in morning to take the chill out the kitchen.
I want hear the crunch of leaves under my feet as I walk to meet my three girls at school, under a cool azure sky.
I want to pretend that winter does not follow Autumn.
I will think about:
Asking my girls, "Hey what to help me pick some tomatoes?"
A whoop of delight came from four separate girls of various ages. They spilled into our side yard, my chiding mother-voice saying: " Remember, just the RED ones" bounces off their ears as they tear out the deck door to our meager veggie patch.
(it makes me happy beyond words that my children get so excited about picking produce).
So here is to what the wisest man ever penned:
"To everything there is a Season" (Ecclesiastes , King Solomon)