Last night, I smelled it. You know… it.
Chilly air with a hint of smoke, like someone, somewhere is snuggling in front of a fire with a cozy blanket. The house filled with the smell of something yummy simmering away in the slow cooker (last night it was my chicken curry). The smell of leaves. You can almost taste it.
One of Owen’s favorite questions these days is, “Whaddayou hmell, Mommy?”. (Still working on starting words with an “s” sound). Sometimes it’s trash, sometimes it’s onion and garlic on the stove, sometimes it’s gasoline or baking bread. Yesterday I got to tell him, “Fall, buddy! It smells like fall. Mommy loves fall.”.
I’ve seen a lot of blog posts recently about yay pumpkins and yay scarves and yay cool weather and I couldn’t agree more. But I won’t bore you with all of the things I love about fall (a list of which, especially living in New England, could go on for days). This picture says it for me.