A week or so ago a friend commented to me that fall, to her, felt hopeful. She seemed confused about why that would be, but I knew exactly what she meant.
Spring brings promises of new growth and exuberance and busyness. Fall is pregnant with the hope of rest, a season of replenishment after the labors of fruit-bearing. I’ve been thinking about that hope all week, and am eagerly anticipating snowy days, steaming mugs of hot tea, and long hours knitting.
That’s a good thing, because our first snowfall came early this year. It wasn’t a lot of snow, but it was cold enough to justify picking the tomato plants clean (and making green tomato pie! Yum!) And Jonathan got to play his soccer game with the snow flurrying around us, which made him feel quite Grown Up–but not too grown up to decline a post-game trip to the coffee shop for steamers.
Counting with Ann at