In the last fifteen minutes of the Arts Market yesterday, gale-force winds blew in and the rain poured down. Local tornado watches were posted, some blocks lost power, and today, our yard is a mess. However, the storm blew away the shroud of humidity and heat that plagued us last week, and this morning is clear, beautiful and autumnally cool. It is perfect out there. Jack is hiking with his grandfather, Oliver and Tom are aerating the yard, Tom ever-hopeful that we can get some grass to grow in the shady patches, and I just put up a few jars of spiced plum jam and about to go mulch.

I find days like these, those that assert that fall is approaching, to be some of the most memory-inducing. You know how a song can bring you back to a moment in your past? You can recall what you were wearing, where you were, how you felt, that kiss, oh that kiss. Something about a clear and cool day whisks me pastward in much the same way as can music. On days like these, I always want a steaming mug of tea and something with a warm, spiced fragrance bubbling on the stove, pervading the house. I am most often drawn back in time to an apartment I lived in just after returning to Evanston following grad school at Penn.

I'd never wanted to live in the Chicago-area again but moved back for a man with whom I was deeply in love. Long story short, we broke up, but that year was still a good one in the ways that painful times can foster growth. My apartment was directly over a dry cleaner, and so my floors were always warm, even after the shop closed each day. That apartment was full of light because some wise builder had designed it with a surplus of windows. You'd literally have to turn your back to avoid one, and I loved that. I lived on a classic Evanston street- the El train's purple line rumbled by not too far away, magnificent old trees were all around, and there was a great block of shops and cafes nearby. In the fall, these trees' changing leaves made for a gorgeous view. In the winter, as the snow fell, I was lucky to get to work from home (reading applications for the University of Chicago), and would sit on my old hand-me-down couch, the aforementioned cup of tea on the second-hand coffee table, papers strewn all around, and those windows providing a visual diversion when I needed one. In the spring I could watch the snow melt away -thank god! finally!- and go out for a run down along Lake Michigan. And then in the summertime, the relationship truly over, I bid Evanston adieu again (forever), moved to New York but never stopped missing those windows.

Today, the first that really feels like fall, I'm thinking a lot about that apartment, its windows, all I learned while I was there and how grateful I am for it all.