Fall is such a poetic time of year. As the leaves begin to change their color and fall off of tree branches, we look at them with such deep admiration. We find ourselves falling in love with the beauty of change; with the beauty of the passing.

When I think about Fall, I think about it as the moments in between. It's the road trip of the seasons; the lazy car music humming in the background as its passengers await the coming of the inevitable destinations that await them further down the road. It's the simplicity of waiting; of waiting for snow or waiting for sunshine. And as the leaves fall down and allow themselves to be crunched on the sidewalk underneath the boots of small children, we relish in the way they seem to burn up the branches like fire.

How beautiful it is to love something such as fall; to love something that's very season represents something as powerful and as painful as the changing of normality.

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