It's candle weather. Dark when I go to work, dark most days when I get home. I light candles. I burn sage.
Outside the leaves and apples are coming down. The crabapple tree in the backyard was loaded this year. Hundreds of tiny bright red apples. The birds love them, but don't eat them all. They fall and squish under my feet releasing that apple smell. The leaves seemed brighter this year: flames of yellow, orange, and red. They're dropping, gathering into piles, drifting like snow. They also release that fall smell: that earthy aroma that goes right to the back of my nose. I swallow it, keeping the warmth of fall inside.
Outside the leaves and apples are coming down. The crabapple tree in the backyard was loaded this year. Hundreds of tiny bright red apples. The birds love them, but don't eat them all. They fall and squish under my feet releasing that apple smell. The leaves seemed brighter this year: flames of yellow, orange, and red. They're dropping, gathering into piles, drifting like snow. They also release that fall smell: that earthy aroma that goes right to the back of my nose. I swallow it, keeping the warmth of fall inside.
