I would never tell the other seasons, but fall is my favorite, favorite, favorite. The way the air wake up your lungs when you breathe it in deep, the way you can layer your clothes and peek out at the world, the way each day changes the landscape around you and you are all too aware of how finite things are. I’d never been to Radnor Lake until a couple of days ago, when the…
This time of year always feels a little like those last few anticipation-filled lurches at the top of the first, biggest slope of a roller coaster. I’m ready. Let off the brakes.
These mums came from mom’s garden, where they lived happily as perennials. Hopefully they will find my dirt to be as hospitable. It’s hard to believe I’ve kept this going for 30 weeks. I’ll be sad when the last bloom of the year falls.
I find cracking open a pumpkin and scooping out its guts to be soothing and meditative on the level of peeling pomegranates. It’s not always been this way; when I was little, I’d balk at the concept of gutting my own pumpkin and make mom do it. But now? If I want that pumpkin to have a face, I have to get it done myself, guts and all. The process has become so familiar now…
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