Restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

Autumn is by a significant margin my favorite season, but during these last few days of November, I'm growing secretly relieved that the typically vibrant reds and oranges are giving way to these muted, quieter tones. I hope (desperately) that with a new season will come a new chapter, but mostly, I keep thinking I'll be somewhere over Massachusetts exactly 14 days from this moment.

For all of the thought and disappointment, wonder and preparation, dressing of turkeys and wrapping of gifts, ultimately, it's just mad impatience, day after day.