Goodbye summer

The first whiff of fall assaulted my senses yesterday as I walked out to water my plants, mostly potted herbs scattered erratically up our stair steps. I had mixed feelings, first of regret and then a feeling of acceptance and even delight at remembering all the things that go with fall, the crunch of leaves and brisk evening air, the empty fishing port suddenly void of tourists, wonderful homemade soups and the holidays, and now of course the tradition of celebrating my son's birthday.

We eat every meal outside on our small terrace starting in spring as soon as the first bulbs peak their heads up and study the tourist parading by through summer and continue dining there long into fall until we are forced to bundle up in sweaters rubbing our hands together with a little shiver. At that point we'll begin to take the final course of dessert or tea inside the house and gradually we will find it too cold to take anything outside. It's a cycle we've followed for four years now, a sort of family tradition and a one of those discreet little markings of the passage of time.

Another season and soon another year is coming upon us and I try to imagine what it will bring us. The optimist in me has a small list of things that can happen, all good and wonderful things. The pessimist is too busy looking at the past and worrying to pay much attention to all that, maybe to afraid to believe. I'm feeling strangely attached to the optimist this season though.

Bienvenue automne.