past. present. future.

knowing we are leaving here someday

i find myself working to remember what "here" means.

this tiny shoebox home, with our lives and dreams shoehorned in.

it's fall. an indian summer.

the leaves are crispy, fragile, brittle. longing to be shuffled through.

it's not a mournful fall this year. autumn is developing...

the way we've come to expect of spring.

watching other lawns being raked and trimmed and gleaned of any signs of fall,

i wonder if i am the only one who thinks they look better leaf blown and wild.

we are here. a home in transition. a season of transition.

i want to remember every minute.

xo. r