taste of the chill

it is only the beginning of september. two and a half weeks remain of summer - glorious, beautiful, lush summer. today is more october, though; the lights have been on all day, i nudged my defrost to the slightest tick past the warm side in my car, my bare feet begged for cozy socks when i arrived home.

the best way to spend a day like today would be nestled in some cafe somewhere, maybe within earshot of the ocean's crashing waves. i'd like there to be a wood burning stove and mug after mug of lattes, served first with chocolate croissants, later with open-faced roast turkey sandwiches, and maybe a small glass of wine. there'd be a cozy seat near the stove, a light blanket, and a view of rain drops running fat down old panes of glass with the grey sky behind.

if only. but this will have to suffice: ray lamontagne and homemade coconut-lentil curry. it is the closest thing i can come up with on short notice.

summer, oh, summer, you can come back any time you'd like. while i love each of the seasons, i am not quite ready to let go of you just yet. sun and seventy-five degrees, please. until then, i'll have to settle for this little taste of fall.