...on a rainy morning in San Francisco.
I woke up to the sound of rain this morning.
Not a heavy downpour and not a misty San Francisco drizzle—just big, fat drops making the most pleasant sound on the slant of roof above my bed.
B and Ellie were still asleep, and I'd have stay there with them, but I felt that sudden, quiet excitement that comes with the first real weather of a new season. I tiptoed to the kitchen, warmed up the coffee I didn't finish yesterday, pulled on a soft, old, too-small sweatshirt, and settled in at my desk to call my sister.
How lovely, this shift in the air. I've always loved the arrival of a new season—the natural change-up of habits, schedule, wardrobe. Even though the changes aren't as dramatic here as they were where I grew up—where, out of the blue, you could awake to a blanket of white on the ground, a white so bright you knew it was there before you even opened your eyes—you can still feel the turn.
I'm so ready for the rain, and the cold, and the early evenings. There have been years where I'd bemoan the tougher running conditions, not being able to play pickleball outside, the soggy, chilly dog walks, but this year I'm craving the indoor months so deeply—a stack of books, holiday movies and gentle, familiar TV shows, endless mugs of afternoon tea, long phone calls under blankets, and Ellie's warm head resting on my lap while I write from the couch.
Counting Crows, Noah Kahan, and Norah Jones...
Candles that smell like baked goods...
Lamplight in the daytime...
Snuggle season is here, and I'm here for it. What a good start to the day.
What season settles you? Tell me about it, if you'd like.
(Photo by Hannah Domsic.)