For the past several days, I've been dreaming of fall. Apple-picking and pumpkin patches and of hills covered in red-garbed maples. Dreams of bundling up in a warm sweater and corduroy pants and getting lost in a good old fashioned corn maze. The midwesterner in me always comes out with a vengeance in the fall, because as much as I love California, fall never feels like autumn to me here. This is my 4th fall living here, and this is the closest I've ever found to the midwestern autumn colors in my heart:
This was taken last year in Lake Tahoe, somewhere near Emerald Bay. It's lovely -- the yellow aspens against the brilliant blue of the sky. In fact, I'm planning a trip to the Sierras in a couple weeks to enjoy the lovely weather again. (Anyone want to recommend where's best in October -- Tahoe, Yosemite, or Sequoia / Kings Canyon?) But, still, I'm lonely right now for home and the paintbox autumns of my childhood.