The sent of wood pulp is lightly filling the air. It reminds me of home and construction, long hours and hard work. It makes me happy.
I hate to seem like I am stuck on a particular topic, but the beauty of the fall keeps impressing itself on me and I need to speak of it somewhere...
I don't remember it being so lovely last year, with the colours and the cool nip in the air, even in the sun. A hint of wood smoke on the air, a layer of cirrus clouds high, high up making the sky look like blue marble streaked through with white. It's calling to me, the beauty, the freedom and openness. Unfortunately, my books, with their papery, rustling, throaty voices, are nearer and for the moment harder to put off and ignore. Soon enough there will be time...