oh, dear.

I’ve done a really good job of not dreaming too much of Autumn all during this long, hot, humid, sticky, hot, dry, hot summer. Because I knew that the moment the Fall-lust entered my heart, it would be there to stay. For good. And the only cure would be one or two delightfully crisp, rustle-y, pumpkin filled months, where the geese wing overhead and the leaves gently desert their tree and settle on every available inch of ground, be they welcomed or not.

So, it’s to my great dismay that while August is still very much holding court, my longing for Fall has begun.

I say it’s all the much-longed-for cooler weather’s fault that my love for scarves is gently enfolding me yet again, that I’m beginning to think how soon I can make it by a Starbucks to suck down one of their Spiced Pumpkin Lattes, and that I’ve started panting for the day I can wear my snazzy fur-lined boots, (which Lee called my “fertilized boots,”) for the first time.

And the thought of the First Fire in the fireplace makes me the closest to high I’ll probably ever be.

I’ve started dreaming a bit too early, it’s true.

But I’d rather be the kind of person who dreams early than the kind who doesn’t dream at all.