object (v)

It's not that I don't like autumn.  Or Fall.  I usually call it Fall.  It's the transition that gets me.  The in between.  I know I've written about this before, and wait until we change back to standard time.  Oh, how I will go on about light leaking from the sky.  The metaphors will get waist-deep around here. 

Maybe it's change that I didn't choose that I object to.  Even after a lifetime of it, I can't quite abide it.  But I will enjoy the satisfying crunch of a maple leaf under my shoe, or the wet granola smell of the sidewalk after a sudden rain.  I will enjoy soup steam in my face from a new yellow bowl.  More lap time from the cats.  Those small offerings I can accept.