Oh fall. You arrive, the leaves barely begin to change, and then (before a girl can say, Isn't fall grand??) the leaves billow down in yellow sheets. Sitting by my dark window tonight, I cannot tell if I'm hearing rain or falling leaves and acorns. Autumn is loud and powerful and quiet and quick and leaves everyone wanting a little bit more.

(Across the street from my office window is the most glorious red and yellow tree, and its leaves are all pooled around its base and all I want to do is throw on a scarf and jump right in, creating a colorful chaos. If you are similarly inclined when you see large piles of fallen leaves, we should be friends.)

Green thumb.

While I was at home this weekend, I couldn't get over my parents' lawn. It's an electrifying green color and the grass is thick and the hills beg to be rolled down. It's exactly how I remember the grass while growing up, but I think I convinced myself that my childhood memory had fictionally enhanced the alright, just so-so grass that I've seen in recent years past. But oh man. This lawn is begging for a game of touch football and firefly catching and bare, dirty feet.

Last week I finally bought myself an orchid, something I've wanted for years but just recently acted on. It's tall and graceful with four bright blooms that just so happen to match the new "plum seduction" nail polish on my toes perfectly. It's no sprawling yard of soft grass, but it still grounds me in a way that brings my mind back to "one step at a time"...

Inhale.
Exhale.