Fall is sneaking in. I can almost feel it, just under this veil of sticky summer that's wading far too deep into my precious September.
Well-known fact: I hate summer. I hate heat and sun. I stay irritable and lazy, and I get more summer colds than winter. I burn easily and I am disgusted by Tennessee's relentless humidity- like a giant dog breathing in your face. I despise the devil may care attitudes summer inspires, the languishing and the revelry and the sun that stays up far too long.
But the fall is much better.
Fall is sweet and perfect and gentle. Fall is grounded and stable, smells like old books and feels like worn-in sweaters. Fall smells right and feels right and sounds right. Fall inspires fires and whiskey and quiet. Colors fade from garish and settle into muted familiarity. It is comfortable and delicious.
There is nothing better than a good autumn season. Except maybe a winter full of snow... but it never snows here in East Tennessee.
