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.