I can feel the November coming. Sunday morning breakfast becomes more of an occassion. Spending time sitting around the table, a cup of coffee being savored instead of being gulped. Putting on the kettle for a second pot. Not running out the door to pick sunflowers or harvest something. Planning what's going to cook for a long time on the stove making the house smell so good and homey and safe. Soups and stews are my favorites and I welcome the free time I have as they simmer away.
It's a bittersweet time of year. My last floral bouquets are on the windowsill above my sink. Now when I look out, I see a field full of frost and leaves that might or might not get raked. I've been stretching out the bouquets, removing dead flowers daily, until only one lone little bloom will remain. I'm not much for purchased flowers so these memories will have to suffice until next spring.
The sunflowers are finished now - except for the bits left in vases. They'll be gone too soon, until next year. Time for a rest and time to find work inside that needs to be done. Goodness knows, there's gobs of it.