I love autumn. It’s my favorite season–in spite of what it is the harbinger of here in the Midwest. It’s the crisp earthy smell in the air, the vibrant colors of the changing leaves, and the sound of them crunching beneath shoes (or paws). It’s the time when you begin to layer, and pull out the sweaters that have lain unused since you put them away when spring warmed up.

Since returning to work, I’ve struggled with blog topics. Having a schedule and a sense of purpose as my days in the office fill up with work projects and my time at home revolves around a certain furry ninja as we take long walks through the neighborhood and weekend visits to the dog park. I guess the best way to describe what I’ve been feeling is content. I appreciate the mundane in a way I wasn’t capable of before.

As the photos show, it’s truly the beginning of fall and this weekend demonstrated it in stunning visuals and brisk temperatures. As I ran errands I found myself on Bowmanville Road. It’s a road that runs on the south end of Rose Hill Cemetery (home to some pretty famous Chicagoans and second only in that regard to nearby Graceland.) Like so many places in Chicago, I discovered Bowmanville Road with Ken. It was near his apartment when we met. It’s an unremarkable street in most respects. But there is a beautiful community garden that runs along side it. And though there are many community gardens that grace many streets around the city, this is the one we drove down so many times on the way to his place–and it was the first time I’d been on the street in years. I drove slowly and admired the garden and the neighbors who were out working in it. It was nice, but also strange. To be on that favorite road for the first time without Ken and rather than a cinnamon Chow in the back seat, a small black one sat.

Sometimes I see these snapshots of my life and still find them surreal. But they don’t sting me with guilt or overwhelming sadness anymore–or at least not right now.

And with tremendous gratitude, I’ll take it!