So a certain couple of my (male) friends keep commenting on how girls seem to all love fall.  I'd just like to say, that in my house, it's my dad who loves fall and my mom is already grieving the dying days of summer.  I began loving fall as a little girl, out taking walks with my dad.  We had to get Starbucks just to keep our hands warm as we strode along (dad doesn't hold hands, he needs 'to keep his stride/ flow going').  I'd be bundled up in a coat, and hopping from leaf to leaf.  Still today, I can't seem to keep myself from hopping on every leaf I think might give a little crunch.  Our conversation was trailing behind us as little white puffs.  If on the Burke Gilman and headed toward Seattle, we'd always stop and sit and the log (still do).  If headed the opposite way, we'd walk over to the long arching bridge over the slew and just stand there, taking in the view of the changing trees reflected in the slow rolling water.

I love the summer.  I love the endless days of swimsuit wearing (or what once was), playing in the water, reading in the grass, bonfires and late nights out on the patio.  I love that the sun is up before me, and stays out to play 'til late.  I love the Perseids.  I love sun dresses and sandals and painted toes.  Long car rides along the coast, or runs out along the trail.  I LOVE summer.  But when fall peaks in its sweet, warm and ever so familiar head, I run to give it a HUGE hug, and a cup of hot coffee or cocoa. 

Fall is promise and hopes and memories.