I love when fall begins it’s descent. You can feel it in the movement of the evening air. It’s a crisp sunrise, with a bite and a taste, that slowly gives way to a soggy summer morning heat. It ambushes us in our sleep, turns the forest into a painting, and the starry sky in to the clearest of dreams. The crows call differently, and the hayfields lean slightly more. The creek water rejoices in the renewed purity of the ever giving mouth, those feeding waters that grow colder and purer as the air changes with our breaths. It consumes us, and before we are fully aware of it’s coming, we have succumbed to it’s glory, we’ve resigned to bask in it’s glow.

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