I may have had a touch of glee this morning, and it was inexplicable.
I'm a pretty good-humored person. I usually carry a good song in my head. I can deport myself to my Happy Place pretty handily. So I shouldn't be mystified by feelings of glee, except for the fact that I am not a morning person, and by 8:30am, I had a smile creeping out the corners of the my mouth, like a tickled teenager whose hunky crush just totally visited her at work and asked her when she was NOT working.
But nothing like that happened, and, really, thank God, because if there were hunky teenagers visiting me at work? Asking me when I got off? We'd have T-rubble, young.
I just have to say that the weather today had me all sorts of utterly, on-my-knees thankful. It was just gorgeous. That sweet smell of long sleeve shirts and Buffalo wings and Deb Talan CDs - can you SMELL them? I could. Because fall is beginning in New England. And out come all of those things for me each fall which make my life here splendid. Here, in the finest ghetto of Boston, where I can see the beautiful leaves change color. And as the city's pollution incubates them from falling when the rest of the leaves fall on the trees all up I-95, through New Hampshire, and into Maine, I harvest my thoughts about what good things summer brought to me and I scan the horizon with the sun setting just a bit earlier these days for more signs of my favorite time of year.
I have a touch of glee about fall, and I hope it stays for as long as the last leaf on the unfortunate, gangly looking tree out my back window.
Winter? We will not acknowledge that beastly impostor until that last leaf's descent.