The summer in Indiana seemed to drag on forever. It was hot. It was simultaneously dry (well, dry for the Midwest) and sweltering. I wore my hair in styles that would make my mom's toes curls (she likes me better with bangs). I lived in jersey-knit skirts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. In fact, I'm not sure I'm going to be able to wear flip-flops for a very long time because my toes still feel weird.
But fall is here now. Indiana in the fall is breathtaking. The trees change to blazing shades of red and orange. Corn and soybean fields dry into golden stalks. Brilliant red cardinals flit about (and they're so much prettier than I ever imagined them to be). The geese return and people spill out onto patios, lawns, and sidewalks to enjoy the beautiful weather.
Five or six years ago my dad came to so that we could attend a Bob Dylan concert. We went to a festival and took this picture outside of one of Indiana's covered bridges. The way the sun hits the water still blows my mind (despite the poor quality of the picture).