The Great Cool Down

Autumn has arrived.

It sneaked up again, hid behind warmer days, using the nights to paint the leaves, subtle at first. I blamed a long, hot summer for killing trees on the mountains, certain it could not be time for yellow, orange and red to cover the peaks. Content to let the last days of summer linger, I kept myself from looking at the hills, seeing the inevitable push down from the heights towards the valley. Like many, I had grown tired of the heat, of days in the high 90’s where being inside was the only reasonable option. Still, I love summer, being out in the city at night, wandering streets in short sleeves and short pants.

Two days of rain have convinced me it is no longer summer. Today as I drove to get music, get coffee, get out of the house, I took an intentional long look at the peaks above where I live. It was undeniable.

Autumn has arrived.

The school boy in me always associated this time of year with the end of freedom. That boy still has some sway in my head and he easily convinces me to mourn the end of greenery, bees bustling about the sedum in the front yard. “It will be more than half a year before you feel this again,” he says to me.

But the grown up in me knows better. I can anticipate the cooler mornings, wearing a jacket with cap on my head as I walk around the neighborhood, kicking and crunching leaves with Sheryl as we wander.  Trips to coffee shops where I press my hands on cups filled with delicious liquids that warm my body, awaken my mind.

The writer in me loves days like this.  I find bliss sitting on the patio, feeling the wind and rain, all sorts of words and situations slowly meandering through my head.  I like the alone-ness of it. I forget how much I miss it.

I forget how much I miss you.

 

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About fenster

There are some who call me, Tim?

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