When summer fades and the season tilts to autumn, my senses heighten. The lower light casts a gauzy glow, stretching the shadows lazy and long. The air turns cool and sharp, tinged with wood-burning smoke and the essence of dew on fallen leaves. Wind gusts grow blustery, and fog bears beads of mist and drizzle.
No longer stultified by heat and humidity, my appetite grows and shifts to warmth and comfort, craving steaming bowls of chowder and stews, warm drinks, and fortifying libations. This steamy bowl of buttery clams hits the spot.
