A Stirring

Fickle San Francisco, your weather upsets my expectations.   I walk outside in the afternoon and the light is long and orange: fall.  But the warm air whispers of popsicles, lounging on stoops and sleeping on warm grass.  I wander around looking for a tree with flaming leaves, but see only green.  I feel a pang for fall, but fall is somewhere else.  Here is just the promise of fall. I throw candy down on the trick-or-treaters, making candy-rain.  I fashion my own weather. 

Is this the stirring that I feel? Is it the desire for a new season?

Maybe it's the season or maybe just my internal clock ringing, but I hear my neglected projects calling me.  I want a cozy space and an endless amount of time to weave my long rope of projects, ideas, half-thoughts and wishes into something I can touch.