Life is always happening. There is no pause button, no daily translation of pausing on a run for quick breather while you stretch your quads, and certainly no real-life version of holding onto the side of the pool wall when you can't tread water any longer. Or need a sip of your sunbathing friend's strawberry daiquiri. Oh wait! There is essentially a real-life version of that and it is called wine and it is currently in my left hand while I type this with my right. 

And to think that here I was, wishing the year would just turn to autumn already. Maybe it's because I haven't made my monthly work trip to Vermont (I know, I know, my life is tough!) since August. I've been dreaming about the resplendent foliage that turns the rolling hills a blazing red and vivid orange. I've been remembering the heavy, sultry smell of wood smoke, and how it hangs in the air, promising cozy scenes of porch-wrapped white houses: a golden retriever snoozing by the hearth on a soft rug and families sprawled on the couch after dinner eating cake and laughing. 

It’s cold outside again. I forgot how this feels; no number of layers is enough to combat the winds that whip through the city streets. This morning I woke to a persistent drizzle of cold rain. I love how cozy it feels to walk swiftly through the rain--the wet streets, the cold breeze--to get to the coffee shop where I open the door to a gust of warm, espresso-scented air. I stand still for a moment, breathing in the smell of bagels toasting and coffee. I listen to the chatter of customers. I order and chat with the baristas (yes, we are on friendly first-name terms, this is how I roll).