This is the third day in a row where we’ve been able to
open all the windows,
In other words, it’s the third day in a row where I’ve been able to breathe.
Says the magpie to the morning
Don’t let this fading summer pass you by.
Neko Case, “Magpie to the Morning”
If spring is supposed to be the season of rebirth and renewal, why does autumn make me feel so much more hopeful?
Spring, for all its frilly blooms and gamboling lambs, feels like the blinding, grinding conveyor belt into the crematorium of summer. (How great a name would that be for an ice cream shop?)
You know how the story will end, and it does not end well. There will be too much sunshine, and sweat, and endless welts from mosquito beasts. It will go on forever.
Fall, instead, feels like the return trip home after a long time gone.
It doesn’t have to put on lipstick and shake its ass to get your attention. Fall has substance and worth, natural glamour.
And it’s too soon gone.