I'm in love with fall. At least for the moment. True, my ardor is normally reserved for months where life is effusive and promising, but the whisper of change in the air these days has me enthralled.

I wake in the morning to see the green, green grass dusted with frost. As the sunlight spills over the horizon, the protected hollows gather up a subtle mist that clings to the dried flowers and cattails, the discarded leaves of maple and ash. The tree tops hold on to a smattering of leaves that brightly wave in the breeze - a bittersweet parting gesture to help me forget the months of gray and brown that await.

Some plants still flourish. The lavender continues pushing up happy purple sprigs, the parsley revels in the chilly overnights, and the allyssum flowers still proudly hug the ground in blatant disregard of the freezes that have come and gone over the past several weeks. A lone iris blooms like the one child in the family who can't sleep.

The air is cool and damp, and smells of decay and woodsmoke. No birdsong mars the silence, nor muffles the melancholy cry of the trains who call from several miles away, snaking their way to points West. Stratus clouds sit dark and brooding against a blue sky scrubbed clean by recent showers, their tops lit by the sunlight in the season's haze-free atmosphere. The sun still feels warm on my face, and the breeze has not yet taken on winter's icy bite.

November is the month of change - like it's vernal counterpart, May. It begins with as many comfortable days as not. It ends like the brisk season we are about to endure. It whispers to me to make warm bubbling dinners that simmer for hours on the stove top. It makes me consider bundled-up bike rides followed by apple cider or hot chocolate. It inspires treasure hunts where the goal is the happiest collection of acorns, or the one perfect fall leaf.

The real treasure is the end of the day, where the early-darkening evenings bring everyone indoors, around the fireplace, snuggling close. There are smiles and card games and music. We are warmed by the fire although the cool house still prompts sweatshirts and soft socks. We have not yet pulled out the space heaters, but layer on thick down comforters when we tuck the girls into bed. They are still covered and curled up around their stuffed companions when we kiss them at our bedtime, rather than splayed wide and uncovered, as we often find them in summer.

Thank you, fall, for your quiet joys and glimpses of fleeting beauty. Thank you for the opportunity to look for new kinds of happiness, and for encouraging us to enjoy the moment rather than worry about the cold to come. We are blessed.