Fall hangs just around the corner. I sense it in the breeze and especially in the shade when we walk Lucy and Annabelle. The leaves are beginning to change on the trees in Northwest Arkansas, and this makes me so-so-SO happy.
If fall was a place, I’d look forward to returning each year, excited to see familiar sights and inhale familiar smells. I’d sit on the back porch and drink it in slowly with crushed ice and fresh lemon and mint from the garden.
If fall was a dream, I’ll tumble into it every night and sleep beneath a cool, cotton sheet.
If fall was a song, I’d play it all night long, memorizing the lyrics, singing the words out loud, never tiring of the tune.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
William Michael Morgan, Vinyl