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It's 7 AM and all the windows were open when I got up this morning.  It was so chilly that I had to put on socks and a sweater, and now I'm sipping hot coffee, thinking .... (close your eyes, cold weather haters)... that it's beginning to feel an awful lot like Fall. 

I always get this feeling when Fall is coming on.  It's like a sweet and sad nostalgia, remembering soccer games with greasy grilled cheeses and leafy hikes followed by hot chocolate long passed.
It is both an ending - of the long coffee mornings and beachy goodness of summer, and a beginning - of the routine of school, warm things bubbling in the CrockPot, and really great wool socks. 

But even though I love the season that follows, I spent most of the summer dreading it's end - I woke up lamenting the fact that someday, I would have to wake up at 6 AM again and be an active member of society.  I mean, I would have to brush my hair. Much to my frazzled schoolteacher surprise and dismay, however, summer didn't turn out to be just a time to watch Gilmore Girls until 10 AM and cuddle shamelessly with Pablo (although there was plenty of that). It was a season of waiting, worrying, praying, preparing, and wondering.