Fall seems to be leaving as quickly as it came. Many of the trees around us are nearly bare and the nights are downright cold. The smell of wood burning is in the air and the fields have been cleared and put to rest for a season. This is my favorite time of year. I find the winding down and tucking in to be just what I need. There is something relaxing and soothing about preparing for winter. One of my favorite sounds is of the ax splitting wood. Everything about this time of year makes me think of home, warmth and laughter. The colors bring joy to my heart. They offer me some sort of peace that I really can not describe. Every autumn I feel like I am home and I belong.
When I was a kid I spent a lot of my summer hanging out with my grandparents in Island Park, Id. We would make the trip up a couple times over summer break. We would got to West Yellowstone, where I would always get a mood ring, rock candy suckers and eat at a place called Chris's. I loved spending those summers with my grandparents. We would spend hours driving around with my aunt and uncle. My aunt would bicker and complain for what seemed like ever. It became a soundtrack to the trip and still to this day when I drive those streets I hear her voice talking to m y grandma. I see my grandpa sort of staring off into space and I see my uncle bouncing his leg and fidgetting. But the thing that always stands out to me in every single memory of Island Park is Indian Paintbrush. My grandma loved the flower and would make us stop our drive so she could photograph it with her awesome (to me) Nikon. I squealed when I saw these two flowers swaying under a tree. I gave everyone a heart attack when I squealed. It was my grandmas flower, I had to take a picture....or two....or maybe 10. Grandma taught me you can never have too many pictures of Indian Paintbrush.
Have a beautiful week everyone!