Every night, I open the front door of Emily and my second-story home, and take our tiny dog out into the neighborhoods so that he can survey his domain, and reinforce its boundaries. And last night, as I stepped out onto the landing, my skin was swept by a breeze of a certain crispness; my nostrils flared at an elusive, yet unmistakable scent; the dog shivered with even more enthusiasm than is his custom...
Autumn was on the march, and my tea-drenched heart was filled with joy.
I drink lots of tea during the summer months; lots of hot, hot tea that I really, really enjoy. But there's something about having that little extra oomph of a chill in the air, a rustle of leaves... it just puts the whole experience — and the anticipation of the experience! — right over the top. It's like, in summer, I mostly enjoy the tea; in fall and winter, I enjoy the tea, and I enjoy dreaming about the next tea.
Is that Zen-compliant? I'm not sure. But it sure is nice.