A taste of fall

Autumn? Harvest? Fall is the word of choice in Canada, although we do use (and understand!!) autumn; “fall”, according to my co-workers, is scorned in England, despite its Old English origins.

Whatever you call it, it’s not here yet. Last week I could smell it in the air. I could see it in the leaves that had fallen (ahem, FALL-ing leaves? C’mon, it makes sense!). Fall was JUST around the corner. Time to get out the slow cooker again! For Tall Guy’s homecoming meal - he’s been away on business - I prepared a feast of cool-weather favourites: chicken cacciatore, Caesar salad (with homemade dressing!), and pears poached in cinnamon and red wine.

Wouldn’t you know, the day dawned clear and sunny, no jacket necessary, and this week temperatures are in the mid-twenties! No chance of wearing any of my new fall sweaters just yet. It really was just a taste of fall.

Now we’re in for a taste of summer, and I have to admit, part of me is a little sad. Don't get me wrong: I am so appreciative of our heat wave, but I am also ready for a change. And for some reason, I am convinced I need fall to do it. There is something about the shifting seasons that makes change feel natural.

I want crisp apples, cool air, wool gloves and hot drinks. A late lunch in a cosy candle-lit restaurant. A pot of tea and Dickens. I want to go regularly to the gym, eat hearty soups, and get enough sleep. But it's not fall enough!
This morning I had a blueberry-banana smoothie. Lunch was veggies and hummus, and dinner will be a salad. It's not exactly the change I was hoping for; there's no fresh air to clear my head, and there's no way I'll be wearing a corderouy jacket this week. So for now I'll soak up the sun, and enjoy a drink outside on the fire escape. After a trip to the gym. 

Bring it on, Birkenstock.