lazy, lazy me...

At least, lazy's how I feel. I was actually rather productive this morning; my room is cleaner, things are packed. I opened the windows completely for the first time since the storm, and the scents of vanilla and lavender filled the breeze that plucked at the edges of my sheets as I took my morning sleep. I know that when I close the window, the lavender will recede, just a hint of it remaining -- it seems to fall quiescent unless something brushes the leaves or the soil. Bending over the pots to open the window, I can tell at a whiff which scent comes from which pot -- rich dark lushness from the lavender, light, moist sweetness from the vanilla grass, and the oregano behind them, which seems made for nothing better than balancing the two.

Autumn is here. The leaves outside are turning crimson in spots -- points of flame against the staid greens of the rest. Why the red always seems to emerge first, I do not know... I'm looking forward to golds, to topazes that fool my eyes into thinking there are blossoms where there are none. The wind is whispering stories of preparation, warnings of frost and longer nights. I'm craving soups and wines and nights at home.

Something in the air, perhaps.