And so we arrive, floating on the gentle evening breezes of late September, into autumn. The days are layered into neat stacks of seasons with the mornings bundled in the sweatshirts and winter hats of late winter, the mid-days coated in the sweat of summer, and the evenings a slow unfurling of a tepid night. I am drawn to the porch, and the languid rustle of leaves, and the low slant of the sun that transforms the sky into cerulean.
Contrary to common belief, the living is not easy in summertime. Summertime is sweat and dirt, and the incessant rush of life from the soil that demands planted, weeded, de-bugged, and harvested. Autumn is the drifting of leaves on a lake, the slow stretch of the cat in the sunshine, the heavy lidded afternoon nap beneath curtains swaying in the warm breeze. Autumn, and the living is easy.
