rainy, coffee, soup, bowerbirds kind of days

Rainy, coffee, soup kind of days are when words want to make their way to my fingertips an into some written form. I think these are the sort of days that my mouth would rather stay closed, most likely to keep the heat inside so my heart doesn't get any colder, and the words in my head try desperately to find a way to get out. I never have much to talk about; I always have a lot of talk, it's not usually about much.
These cold, fall hours have re-tuned my ears to a different station, one that plays bowerbirds, all the 'slow' avett brothers songs, and possibly the occasion fleet foxes tune. Fall is like saturday. It's like our Sabbath. The time that our body says that our summer, our friday night, was way too much and we need to take a rest.
     As a kid I didn't like rest, and fall meant that the only way to play was to have a huge coat and hat covering my body, making every movement uncomfortable and heavy. Fall now is so beautiful, a forced time of couches and soup, of snuggling and sappy movies. A time of sad inspiration and the first steps into a beautiful sleep, the state in between rest and deep sleep. A time where God holds us, fixes us dinner, and sits with us without saying anything. You do not argue with rest. You grab hold of it and sleep. Sleep without saying a word. Sleep while listening to nocturnals. I will not argue with sleep.