Cooler temperatures abruptly settled themselves into Auburn this week.  Though initially skeptical, my grey and black striped scarf and I are cautiously welcoming the season.

Slippers and sweatpants drag across my hardwood floors while hot coffee nestles into my favorite thin-rimmed mug.  We think we have central heat, but we’re not sure.  So we wrap ourselves in blankets and make soup for dinner and wake up to cold air on our lungs.

Old houses smell better in the fall.

Sufjan Stevens played soulfully in my room as I unpacked my fleeces and scarves and sweaters.  It feels like pumpkin patches and apple cider and Thanksgiving.

Our noses fade in to playful shades of pink as we sit on the porch and make friends with raccoons and talk about Jesus and memories and football and candles.

And tests and work and meetings don’t matter because we’re too busy figuring out life and relationships and the fear of the Lord.

The leaves are turning.  Green bleeds into yellow bleeds into orange bleeds into red.  And we’re watching with the most passionate attention and most attentive passion.

As grace upon grace cascades all around us.

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