SpanishMintcovered

Sunday, November 12 th There are certain simple joys in life we become accustomed to going without. The longer we don’t experience them, the less we remember how special they are. But when these small warm feelings are recovered, often only by chance, we wonder if and how we ever took them for granted. An early morning wander along quiet Sunday streets, without an iPod in my ear. People slowly strolling, swapping subtle smiles, a whole day of ease and rest ahead. Cafes opening their doors, espresso machines steaming to life, city workers shuffling to recover the streets from Saturday night’s various celebrations.  The simple sounds of Sunday, I'd forgotten the feelings of peace and recovery they bring. Or an English greeting. Just 2 months into my Spanish life I am amazed by how comforting that was; one intuitive barista, serving with a simple 'have a great morning', making me feel recognized and welcomed and relevant all at once. Waking up with a warm body

November 2 nd , I wandered around Gran Via and through the prettiest little winding side streets all overcast afternoon long. The sky is the kind of welcomed grey that only feels cozy with a scarf tucked tight and a name-graced grande paper cup. My Scottish plaid wool that was gifted to me 5 years ago by the sweetest old man, a café regular in Niagara on the Lake (who I think would have been overjoyed to know how many boarders it has crossed with me since), is caught with tiny falling oranges and reds, proud markers of a season changed. I smile at passersby, I let the gloriously crisp autumn air fill my lungs. It is an old familiar feeling, and while these late summer weather days have not been under valued or unappreciated, I hadn’t realized how much I missed this feeling. It has been 4 whole years since I had a real autumn season, having spent the last 3 in tropical climates (again, no complaints). I used to loathe the fall. I really and truly and deeply hated it gro