I wish I lived somewhere that had four distinct seasons.
I wish I lived somewhere that didn’t leave you in short sleeve shirts on Christmas morning.
I wish I lived somewhere where fall lasted more than a few days.
But I don’t.
And I probably never will.
I have some friends (*cough*Sarah*cough*) who had to pull out the sweatshirts weeks ago.
And who are enjoying a true, crisp-air-apple-eating autumn.
But down here in the deep South, we won’t see real fall weather until probably November.
(That’s ok…I won’t be digging out from under eleventy-billion inches of snow in January.)
But there are a few trees around here don’t seem to know that it’s still in the 9o’s every afternoon.
And there’s that wonderful, magical, golden hour…right after the sun greets the day…
And the air is crisp and cool not sweltering,
And the leaves shine in majestic glory,
Filling me with warm fuzzies of epic proportions.
And if I can only get autumn for a few minutes each morning,
I should at least be enjoying it while I can.
I think I need these for breakfast tomorrow, don’t you?
You know, in the spirit of the season.