This year, fall feels like it’s moving faster than I can catch it. The air has shifted, the trees have changed, and somehow, the days already feel shorter — like the season is slipping through my fingers before I’ve had a chance to fully hold it.
The other day, I grabbed my camera before heading out on a walk. It wasn’t planned — I just felt the pull to capture what I could before it all fades. The golden leaves, the quiet paths, the way the light hit just right on the trees. I didn’t pose anything or chase the perfect shot — I just wanted to remember. To bottle up this in-between feeling of warmth and change.
Fall has always been my favorite season — the cozy sweaters, the comforting meals, the way everything feels alive yet winding down all at once. But this year feels different. Maybe it’s because I know how fast it’s going. Maybe it’s because we’re heading on our first family cruise at the end of the month, and while I’m excited to be sailing the Caribbean, part of me knows I’ll miss this — the sound of crunching leaves, the cool mornings, the rhythm of it all.
I think that’s the strange, beautiful thing about motherhood and seasons — they remind you that time is always moving. You want to be present for it, to savor it, but life keeps gently pulling you forward. And before you know it, you’re trading pumpkins for pine trees, and the world is wrapped in tinsel again.
I laughed to myself the other day, thinking about how November barely gets its moment anymore. Everyone seems to skip right to Christmas — and while I love the holidays, I just want to slow down long enough to enjoy this season for what it is. The warmth before the frost. The pause before the rush.
So maybe that’s what my camera helps me do — pause. Even if it’s just for a moment. To look through the lens and realize that I am in the middle of something beautiful, even if it’s passing quickly.
This year, fall feels fleeting — but it also feels full. Full of family, change, anticipation, and small reminders to hold on to the moments that matter.
Maybe that’s enough — to notice it, to capture it, and to carry it with me wherever I go next.
