Much as I love the spectacular serenity and beauty that fall delivers, there's always a sense of foreboding, a sort of imminent threat, that comes with it. It preempts the long, shut-in feeling that a Northeast winter brings.
Yes, I make the most of the time I can still spend outside, but it almost feels like a last hurrah, a desperate scrambling for the last vestiges of warm sun and light. It's the freedom of just stepping outside to BE, on a whim, that I miss. The snatched moments of going in and out-side without consequence, or forethought.
My mood begins to fall with Fall. I need to halt the tumble downwards with warm, cozy thoughts of books, crochet, baking, writing.