It’s one of the first things I do in the morning, touch a flaming match to the wick of the candle in the kitchen window.

I sliced the packing tape along the joins of the box flaps and opened them wide, picked up the thoughtful card resting at the top, thanking me for my order.

I love how fall lets you start again. Start baking bread, start making soup. Start a new knitting project. Start what feels like a slower pace, an amble toward hibernation.

In early morning, I pull the summer’s weeds while redirecting a particularly bitey puppy.

Little Miss Mae. Maggie Mae, to be precise.

Since mid July, there’s been wave upon wave of brilliant orange and red. The poppies just won’t stop.

I’ve gone and ordered a potted white cyclamen. Two, to be exact, with ruffled edges, I requested, if they could possibly be found.

In your pencil-to-paper moments of late, when you're marking down ideas of things for gifting and things for receiving, when you're listing what, exactly, you might welcome into your life and lifestyle this holiday season, have you ever thought of including the word home?

I've ordered more teaspoons. In fact, I ordered all I could find in our silverplate pattern. Because, somehow, the disappearing teaspoon situation is still a situation.

It wasn’t until yesterday that I took my own advice, when, in the muddle of a full work day, I began my fall home edit

In the small, quiet bedroom nestled under a seven foot, beaded plank ceiling at the back of the house, there’s a bed on one wall, with nightstands carved out of flanking floor-to-ceiling cabinetry.

Perhaps you’ll dive right in and begin with the contents of an entire room. Maybe you’ll edit your shoe collection. Or, in the tiniest of baby steps, you’ll begin with your pencil cup.