Monday, October 17, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Friday, October 7, 2011
Sigh.
Fall is upon us.
There is nothing so glorious as the bite of crisp air and the smell of burnt wood. The encompassing warmth of unnecessarily-high knit knee socks and a sweatshirt bring back memories of why I love fall so dearly. Maybe it has been the anticipation of Christmas, the excitement of a change in seasons, or a break from the ordinary way of life that makes me love this time of year so much. I clearly remember as a child, desperately trying to convince my neighbor's father that my September birthday really was, indeed, in fall. He was patient with me as he explained I was born in late summer, but I stubbornly believe I'm a fall child.
This new season is all about ginger, nutmeg and cloves, the sour green apples my mother uses to make apple pie, the juicy and savory taste of pork tenderloin with roasted potatoes, butternut squash soup (after years of fighting, I have given into my love of this amazing dish), and the smokey-sweet smell of the fire burning in the fireplace. The rich oranges, the deep reds, browns that arrive in shades unknown and the clinging green of the past summer. Its to be looked forward to.
There is nothing so glorious as the bite of crisp air and the smell of burnt wood. The encompassing warmth of unnecessarily-high knit knee socks and a sweatshirt bring back memories of why I love fall so dearly. Maybe it has been the anticipation of Christmas, the excitement of a change in seasons, or a break from the ordinary way of life that makes me love this time of year so much. I clearly remember as a child, desperately trying to convince my neighbor's father that my September birthday really was, indeed, in fall. He was patient with me as he explained I was born in late summer, but I stubbornly believe I'm a fall child.
This new season is all about ginger, nutmeg and cloves, the sour green apples my mother uses to make apple pie, the juicy and savory taste of pork tenderloin with roasted potatoes, butternut squash soup (after years of fighting, I have given into my love of this amazing dish), and the smokey-sweet smell of the fire burning in the fireplace. The rich oranges, the deep reds, browns that arrive in shades unknown and the clinging green of the past summer. Its to be looked forward to.
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