It has rained incessantly since Monday morning. Sometimes it has poured, sometimes a cool, wet haze has just lingered on streets and treetops. These misty fall days are my favorites, but I can't help but get nostalgic as always for autumns past, especially the most recent one--when Rob and I shared an apartment and lived the part-time lives of a student and a barista. Getting home late happened at only three o'clock, and even then there was always time to sprawl out on the couch or in bed with blankets and books and our favorite shows.

More than any of that, though, was coming home to someone and telling him in person about your day. Not on the phone or in an email, but actually face to face, with hot chocolate, and your hand in his.

"So many high points on this last leg,

I can't wait to recount them.

It seems that nothing's happened until I share them with you."

--Dashboard Confessional

I say a lot of the same things over and over--I love the rain. Fall is magical. I miss Rob. It's all true.

A little long-distance mush for your Wednesday.

My co-workers and I got home from Baltimore really late Tuesday night, and yesterday everyone was allowed to go into work a little bit later. I set my alarm for nine AM but woke up on my own at eight. The morning was clear and quiet and I could literally hear birds' wings flapping just outside my window. I made coffee and went outside with my copy of Les Miserables. It was chilly, but not too cold to be outside. Yoga pants, a soft tee shirt and scarf, a book and a warm cup--now that's a fall morning.

You can just feel it in the air. Here it comes.

We are approaching my favorite time of year. Summer is bumping into fall and the mornings are filled with a chilly mist that hangs over trees. It's almost time for hot tea and old books and new, perfectly folded jeans. But until then, summer feels sweeter than ever as it gently slips away. That liminality (and apple orchards) are powerful, and I love it more each year.