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It is beginning to feel like fall.
I noticed it on Sunday, maybe because the calender says that Autumn begins on Wednesday. Whatever it is, truth or fiction, there is a difference in the air. A crispness. A smell, fresh and clean, beneath the L.A. fog.
There are mashed potato clouds in the sky that seem to say "one day, soon, I will be gray and full of rain."
Old Man Winter blows gently from the North, not exactly chill but not it isn't the smothering warmth of spring Santa Ana's either. This is the kind of weather that makes me want to turn down the volumn on the stereo and sit in the sun quietly listening to Tchaikovsky or Norah Jones. It won't be long until all I really long to do is curl up under a mountain of blankets and watch cartoons all day. Maybe a movie ab out someone with a broken heart. Something sad, quiet, and beautifully tragic.
Watching my skin wash out to yellow (no more golden kiss of summer), I'll start to bundle up, curse my popsicle toes, and giddily inhale the promise of Christmas that hovers over the house. These are days made for hot cocoa and peppermint tea. Brisk days made for shopping and Monday Night Football (btw, my boys won, don't ya know?).
In a week I'll dye my hair something rich and dark. Something seasonally appropriate because, despite what you've heard, SoCal believes in Autumn, too.
I noticed it on Sunday, maybe because the calender says that Autumn begins on Wednesday. Whatever it is, truth or fiction, there is a difference in the air. A crispness. A smell, fresh and clean, beneath the L.A. fog.
There are mashed potato clouds in the sky that seem to say "one day, soon, I will be gray and full of rain."
Old Man Winter blows gently from the North, not exactly chill but not it isn't the smothering warmth of spring Santa Ana's either. This is the kind of weather that makes me want to turn down the volumn on the stereo and sit in the sun quietly listening to Tchaikovsky or Norah Jones. It won't be long until all I really long to do is curl up under a mountain of blankets and watch cartoons all day. Maybe a movie ab out someone with a broken heart. Something sad, quiet, and beautifully tragic.
Watching my skin wash out to yellow (no more golden kiss of summer), I'll start to bundle up, curse my popsicle toes, and giddily inhale the promise of Christmas that hovers over the house. These are days made for hot cocoa and peppermint tea. Brisk days made for shopping and Monday Night Football (btw, my boys won, don't ya know?).
In a week I'll dye my hair something rich and dark. Something seasonally appropriate because, despite what you've heard, SoCal believes in Autumn, too.
