Above: Micah bought me these letterpress sorts for my birthday, or Christmas maybe?, forever ago. Proof that he's been the best gift-giver ever for years now. I love the red ink residue on that fancy lowercase italic f.
Yesterday marked our official passageway into Autumn. Equinox! Harvest moon! Sweaters!
(It's also the dead center between my birthday and Micah's birthday, which means I pestered him all day about what restaurant/bar he wants to celebrate at this weekend, and the burden of waiting until an appropriate time to give him his gifts has become unbearably heavy.)
Fall means layering clothes, and ridiculous East Coast foliage, and mums, and pumpkin everything. It's time to stop shaving your legs, start roasting root vegetables and thinking about holiday plans, and dream about late nights in front of the (two!) wood-burning fireplace/s in your new home. I'm sad to see the wild abundance at the farmers market wane, but so excited about nesting in the new place – and creating traditions in it that we can build on for many autumns to come.
(Previously: What Spring Means, and What Summer Means.)