Just when I thought this blistering, humid, and sweaty summer would never end, cooler weather finally managed to find its way to these parts. Last night was the first shivering, need-a-coat, cold night of the fall, and Gary lit the first fire of the season in our fireplace.
I love our fireplace. I love listening to the satisfying crackle, watching the dancing of the flames. I love curling up in the corner of the couch closest to the fireplace, feeling the fire’s soothing warmth. Just thinking about it makes me sleepy, cozy.
But the best part, to me, is when the fire hasn’t quite died down yet, and we head to bed. Laying in bed, all the lights out, the house is dark, and we can still distantly see the glow of the fireplace from our pillows. There is something so unbelievably peaceful and lulling about snuggling under the covers and just quietly watching the gentle sway of the fire, gradually getting smaller and smaller, dimmer and dimmer, until it’s completely dark.
Tonight is supposed to be pretty chilly, too. Fire, anyone?