Sunday, September 1, 2013

Pear, pumpkin, fall

Opened a can of pumpkin the other morning and made pumpkin pancakes. Had enough pancakes left over to stick some in the freezer for something quick on a school day. Or if anyone just wanted a pancake, and (I) didn't want the mess to clean up.

Because of the delightful feast at David's, none of us needed anything big for dinner. I scrambled up some eggs and pulled out the the pancakes. Shane looked at me and said, "Pumpkin pancakes? It's August."

I shrugged.

Later when the kids went to bed, he fixed himself a glass of wine.

"You want some?"

I looked in the wine fridge.

"Eh, I'm not seeing anything I want," I said.

"What's that bottle?" he asked.

"It's something pear for a fall sangria I want to make," I said.

"Pear. Pumpkin. Fall," he started. "Then it'll be winter."

I can't help it. I love fall. In fact, since moving here, I love all the seasons--or should I say, both the seasons: green and brown.

The delicious scent of apple blossoms, peepers announcing spring through night chorus; the lush fullness of trees and how the wind sounds blowing over crowning tops, the splash of blue in the pool, the fragrance of cut grass in summer; leaves raining down, crisp mornings, crow ruckus, and the crunch of leaves underfoot in fall; woodsmoke smells and stacks of wood, how snow outlines tree branches, slope slides for little bottoms and a front hill that's worth, at least, half a day's fun. 

Life is beautiful in the woods.

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