I walked outside this morning early, cause the Rocky dog does not have a built-in snooze button, and found this:
Then I realized I was cold. And it wasn’t 900 million degrees outside at 5:30 a.m.
And I wasn’t sweating buckets and see mirages of silky blue ponds surrounded by shimmering palm trees while using my bare hands to dig for water to have the will power to finish walking the dog around the yard.
And I wanted to crawl back under my covers and drink hot stuff and slurp soup and wear fuzzy socks. Not that I would ever slurp soup in bed. Cause I never slurp.
I think fall has finally fantastically fallen. That’s alliteration.
I like alliteration. I like fall.
Fall is good. Fall means you can wear big sweaters and eat more butter. Fall means no shaving if you don’t feel like bending over or worrying if you forgot to put on deodorant as you were flying out the door. Is that gross? I can’t just be only me. Please say its not just me.
What’s falls in with fall for you?