A few weeks ago I decided to be more respectable in my free-time reading choices, so picked up Middlemarch. But as I got further along, I started losing steam on it, until a couple days ago when Monk assigned me new reading.
Monk had read Eragon, the first book in a trilogy--a fantasy boy-and-his-dragon story. As soon as he finished reading it, he immediately passed it on to me: "Mom, you have GOT to read this." I figured there may not be too many more years when he wants me to read the same books he's reading, you know? So I'm making my way through the first book (much more slowly than he did) while he cruises through the second one. My boy.
Today has been astoundingly beautiful here. A wonderful coolness, even crispness in the air. It's simply Autumn, through and through. Honestly, I don't remember it ever feeling so fall-like here. And it makes me wonder if I've finally just gotten used to the subtlety of seasons here. Maybe. There's something wonderful about that. And something a little sad, too.