There's a slight rustle in the air. The hue of gold dots the green hills; fog settles between layers of hillside; tractors, filled with grapes, head for the cantine and first fermentation.
It's all very ethereal and natural. Still, there is a certain sweet melancholy that comes with the end of the summer. It 's a more retrospective time, time to smell freshly picked apples and take long walks, to cook things long and slow and savory on the stove. Our wood is stacked and waiting for the first really cold evening. The last brave souls are taking advantage of the final days in the very cold swimming pool.
I bake for the guests from the last stone fruits from the trees; now there are only plums left. But I put the last peaches to good use.
A simple life, composed of simple, straightforward ingredients.
Had I not changed my life to what it is, I never would have known how important and wonderful the simplest things are. I would never have felt the senses of the changing seasons, at least not to the degree that I do now. I would never have understood that appreciating the smallest things takes focus. Time. Unfettered concentration.
Beauty, simplicity, and change are inextricably connected and interwoven into a tapestry that can make a most wonderful life. With gratitude at its core.