Home in Portland once again, walking Bella around the Mansion in the early morning it is definitely fall.

After the summer that never was, it seems the leaves are really taking their time to turn this year, maybe trying to give us a fleeting illusion of the summer that nature failed to produce but when you’re up early, you feel the crispy morning light and know that even the sunniest of afternoons will fail to warm that spot in your soul that seeks the calm that only a lazy mid-year day can accrue.

The morning mists tint the very air with a steely taste that only means baking apples, simmering stews and afghan-lapped afternoons by the fire with a coupe of dozey cats seeking the fire’s warmth and you, in that order.