It's a cloudy, chilly fall day. I made a stew tonight for dinner (lentil stew, to be exact), which is one of the ways I mark this season.
this time of year, when we're losing light from both ends of the day,
when the air turns cold and the plants die or go dormant, I always feel a
pulling inward. It's time to go indoors and gather around the hearth.
(Well, we don't actually have a hearth, but our cat does plant himself
right on top of one of the heating vents.)
The cold and the dark make it harder and harder to get out of bed. There will be no more reading on the porch until next spring.
I tell myself it's a good time to write. All this turning inward; all this indoor weather.