The. Fall.

I think I've figured it out. The new winds that I'm breathing have come from far away, in the Rocky Mountains and perhaps even the Himalaya's, and they smell like newness and depth and I can't help but feel I should follow them. Every fall I feel that if I knelt down and then jumped high enough I'd simply fly away. Every fall I cry for beauty and changing leaves, and I live in DALLAS. It's probably God's grace that I have never made it to New England in the fall (though I check flight prices daily). I think I might faint for beauty. And it's God's grace that fall dies into Christmas, because I love twinkling lights and warm drinks and red cheeked children and soft sweaters. So I don't think to mourn the fall until the Spring, but then people are always falling in love all around me, and that drama keeps me too busy to think about weather until the time change, and I love the time change. Pretty soon school lets out and then everyone can take a deep breath and rest in the water, and travel to see family and go on mission trips, which makes summer quite... a delight.

The only reason I'm gushing like this about the seasons is because it is the fall. If you cut me, I think I'd bleed apple cider.