That Time of Year

This morning is the morning that the cotton socks come out of the drawer and the wool socks go in. With this next load of laundry, the short-sleeve tees will come out of the dryer and go on hangers in the basement, to have their space in the drawer filled by long-sleeve ones. The long johns came out of hibernation for the New Mexico trip already, as did the warm and water-resistant Asolo boots, replacing the trail shoes of summer.

Late autumn, the time of falling leaves and cold rains and air that smells of woodsmoke, is my favorite season, but it's also the one most ate up with nostalgia and melancholy.
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