It is hot and humid and I hate it. I would give anything to get rid of this heat. I do not enjoy the extreme seasons of winter and summer, and we have more than two months left of the latter. Now that it is past the emerald explosion that is early spring, I find I am eager for the world to fade into its yearly death.
I am dreaming of autumn leaves and October winds. I want to hear the crunch of my feet through the fallen foliage and breathe in the scent of fall. I miss the slate gray skies and the gentle cold rain that precedes the silence of winter.
If I could live the rest of my life in a golden moment, in an autumn country where I could walk amidst trees whose branches are like fireworks, bundling myself against the brisk air that brings miniature leaf whirlwinds, I would be a very happy man.
There is magic in the fall, something beautiful as the world begins to shudder and lie still, that moves me more than anything. The contrast between the chill wind and warm colors is a promise of comfort and rebirth to follow the dread silence of winter, and spring is but that promise fulfilled. But that assurance, that covenant is what fills my heart and makes it impossible to hide my smile.
It is such a long wait until the harvest.