It may still be summery outside, but clouds keep occluding the sun, making the day feel cooler than it is, and reminding us that despite what the thermometer may say, Fall actually has arrived.

I love Autumn. It is quite possibly my favorite season, with Spring running a close second. I remember being very small, and tucked into the pink gingham sheets in the bottom bunk of the unfinished, unpainted bunk beds that were in my room, with the soft lamplight illuminating whatever book I was reading, and my cotton flannel pajamas keeping me toasty and warm.

Today, I’m wearing jeans that are too big, and a hospital-scrubs green t-shirt that I don’t remember buying, but is so comfortable I can’t part with it, and I’ve got the same sense of coziness that I used to have as a pig-tailed child reading in bed.

Even though I’m cleaning.

Sometimes household chores aren’t torture, but a form of nesting, and there’s a sense of accomplishment in tidying the kitchen, re-arranging the living room, putting out the Fall decorations.

Yes, I have Fall decorations. I change the candles. I have a “Happy Fall” wreath for the door. I bring each season throughout the house, so the turning of the year is with us wherever we are. It’s an important element of my life.

I got it from my mother.
Who got it from her mother.

And somehow, that’s fitting.
Appropriate.

Cozy.