To everything there is a season

I love this time of year, when I'm squeezing every last drop of summer while enjoying tastes of fall. It's an odd combination of favorites while Mother Nature eases into the next season. Flip-flops by day, fuzzy socks by night. Flowers blooming, leaves falling. Cherry limeades, sunroof open and a trip to the park. Or homemade chili, Sammy Adams Octoberfest and football on TV.

While the transition's underway, I'm determined to enjoy it as much as I can. I spent my lunch break today, for instance, at the plaza in Riverside Park, one of my favorite Wichita spots. The fountain danced just for me while I soaked up the warm sunshine and Willa Cather's "My Antonia," this month's book club read. I appropriately relished these words today:

"I sat down in the middle of the garden ... and leaned my back against a warm yellow pumpkin ... I kept as still as I could. Nothing happened. I did not expect anything to happen. I was something that lay under the sun and felt it, like the pumpkins, and I did not want to be anything more. I was entirely happy."