A Summer's Farewell

Rain becomes more frequent, sheets of clouds sitting above us, and in the morning the fog is persistent.

By noon it has cleared, the air’s soaked in warmth; but the warmth is different, doesn’t burn anymore the way it does in July when passion mixes into summer.

Over the following weeks, the fog takes longer to clear and then the sky turns a crisp blue, deep and yet within reach.

A flock of birds passes by on its way to the south, a cross-country trip for which they had been preparing for weeks after the air told them: the season’s coming to a close.

The season’s come to a close, with nights at days’ disposal; they are spilling colors, stars like bright freckles, beauty’s been restored, a reason to take out the telescope.

It’s been clear since mid-August: summer’s packing her bags to travel to the far south.

And midway she meets winter, they send storms upon lands, wreak havoc, as the world adopts the nuances of change.

The magic’s simple then; the streetlights are turned on earlier in the evening, jackets are carried around, lips stained cherry red, crimson in the leaves.

On September 21st, the delayed news are announced—autumn has started.