Transitions

{fall colors outside our house}

Fall comes quietly to San Diego. The sun is usually shining and the colors are mostly muted, so without any drastic temperature changes or splashy orange-red treetops, you have to be a sharp observer to catch its beginnings. This week brought slightly cooler evenings and I've been looking forward to trading out our summer bedspread for our winter comforter. I'm dreaming of nippy mornings, burrowed into flannel sheets. I find myself holiday planning, busy thinking about things that are still weeks and months away. Oddly, at the same time, I've been mourning summer, with its freedom and sunsets and drinks on our porch. But in the midst of all this pining, I realized something this evening: I'm missing the unique subtleties of this current transitional time, the beauty in the in-between. Coming home from work tonight, I noticed for the first time this year my evening drive means commuting under dusky skies. I took Guiri for a sunset walk in a sweater and flip flops  - a wardrobe combination unique to early October. As we approached our house at the end of the walk, our little home looked warm and inviting lit up in soft gold against the darkening night skies. Despite the slight chill, I could smell a neighbor's barbecue in the distance. Inside, I sliced up an apple, preferring it to the summery nectarines we have in our fridge, and ate it with the windows open and my legs wrapped under a blanket - maybe the best way to feel the end of summer, and the beginning of fall. I'm feeling more attuned to this between-season, with its subtle shifts in light, color, temperature, clothing, and produce.  I don't want to hurry these transitions, or the seasons themselves. It's tough - I usually find myself looking too far into the future or longing for the past, but I'm going to make a conscious effort to just be, and watch, and appreciate right now. Being mindful of the weather is at least a place to start, I think.