I can get excited about almost any time of the year, it's true, but I think this might be my favorite, when summer moves into fall and we find ourselves lingering in the space between sundresses and sweaters, swimsuits and snow boots.
Most of our neighborhood friends began school last week—some right on Tuesday, just after the long weekend, and the rest on Thursday. We joined some friends on a last-day-before-school trip to the zoo on Wednesday, riding the carousel and the train, playing in the barn, visiting Luna and Kali to see how much they've grown since our last visit, and saying hello to all our other animal friends. And we found out on Saturday that the zoo's newest resident was born while we were there. (We can't wait to go back to see the new baby!)
The days are getting cooler—although I am told Summer intends to make her continued presence known this week—and we've been spending just a little time preparing for the months to come. Our pantry shelves are slowly filling up, not yet with the bounty of tomatoes I've been hoping for, but with broth and chicken soup and dry beans. Wool sweaters that saw just a bit of use on cold seaside evenings this summer need washing, and I've been thinking about bringing cold-weather clothes down from the attic (but haven't made the time to actually do it yet). The calendar says I have time, still, but the air is telling me something different.
And so our days are full: long days, growing shorter, of learning together and waiting, each afternoon when our own work is done, for our friends to come home from school; of enjoying the last of the warm weather and summer's bounty; of preparing for the colder days ahead. Just as they should be, these days of summer-into-fall.