I am conflicted about the end of summer.

I don’t want to say goodbye to peaches, or long swings in the hammock in Connecticut, or walking barefoot through grass, or taking Mitra for her morning walk in flip flops and short sleeves. I don’t want to say goodbye to the farmer’s markets that dot the northeast and flourish only a few months a year. I don’t want “school to start again”. Or to admit that I haven’t “started school again” in ten years.

But then…

There are pumpkin-laced candles to be burned. And root vegetables to roast. And CHRISTMAS. And fireplaces to light. And scarves and jackets and warm cocktails and long, hot baths. And apples and pears and gingerbread.

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