It’s the end of August and autumn overtakes full branches of trees. Driving to the dump, it’s hard not to marvel at the bright orange standing stark against the green. The colors are beautiful. I don’t remember ever seeing them so sudden and crisp.

This is southern Vermont. Three hours north, in the Kingdom, the trees started turning in July. It was cold when I was there last – much too cold to go swimming (although I waded in anyway and spent the rest of the day chilled to the marrow).

The summer tumbled by, not in a flurry of activity, but bore by the steady pace of Must Do.

I think I’ve been domesticated. I’m not sure how I feel about this.

Although I do love my new cutting board and ukulele.


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