I might be a little over-dramatic in declaring these the last few warm days, but after a weekend that barely reached 45° (and offered plenty of boot-wearing opportunities), I feel pretty justified.
So this week, because it’s just a little too warm for my beloved boots, I’m making my daily rounds in my comfiest coziest flats.
It’s finally beginning to feel like fall here. For the past week, the neighborhood streets have been covered in little bright-yellow leaves, and the trees are beginning to ombre their way toward reds and golds. After days of warm weather and sunshine that clashed with all the visual signals of changing seasons, I woke up slowly this morning to see my boyfriend, the earlier riser of the two of us, buttoning a flannel shirt for the first time since the early spring.
“Ohhh, heyyy, flammel,” I said, eloquently, because I was still two-thirds asleep.
“Yeah,” he responded. “It’s cold outside.”