...turns into Fall

 I love August. I didn't get a chance to properly say that, and now here in this new place, September is more like late August. I'm cheating.

Autumn is the shortest season. It is the full, ripe, tumbling-over-the-edge-ness that I love. Leaves deepen to their darkest green before moving onto new shades. The insects are slow and lazy, fat with all the berries and sweet they can consume.

Transitional seasons call for transitional sweaters. I went through huge bags from the move and took out only the things I'll be wearing until December because I have no idea where they will all go. This is the first time I've actually donated hand knit sweaters to charity--odd Summer tank tops in ribbon yarn, acrylic over-sized hoodies. Only enough room for the really good stuff.

How can that be you ask? Heck, I've moved to the 'burbs into the huge place, right? Yeah, but I had FIVE closets in my old apartment. I have two big closets here and one is full of fiber. So, that's different. Before it all used to be just in the living room in million baskets. Choices were made, people.

Brahms, in her dementia, is settling in as much as she can. Thanks to those of you who have inquired. There is value in forgetting....and wall to wall carpeting. Suki is happy with the last point in particular and has no interest in going downstairs into Pug Kingdom.

Life goes on. Stick around...