Maybe fall is on its way. Maybe.

It was two in the morning and it felt like ten years ago, me sitting in a little cabin, reading a book next to a wood-burning stove, nodding off occasionally as the chair was so cozy, the blanket so warm, the hat on my head so perfect. The air outside was cold and the wind was stirring occasionally, enough for me to notice its song. It was Oregon, it was fall, and my life was on the verge of changing, radically, quietly.

Friday night at two in the morning, it felt like ten years ago in that cabin. The air was cool (finally!), the wind was stirring, and oddly enough, there was a scent of wood-burning stove in the air (someone in the neighborhood has a wood-burning something in their house - we smell its wonderful essence when the weather cools), and me in a cozy chair, nodding off occasionally, my life having changed, again, radically, quietly. Haven in my lap, her body pressed to my stomach, her breath and mine together.

For some reason, I feel so impatient for fall to arrive this year, what little glimpse of fall we have here in Los Angeles. And this weekend has been a taste of fall. We will be in the upper 80's again by midweek, but at least I had a night, one night that reminded me of a beautiful time and place.