The Long Summer’s End
It has been a long and perfect late summer into fall. Each day bright, the sunshine relentless.
Over the city haze, like a bruise, settles among the towers and spires.
Sunrises, dust glorious. Sunsets, lingering. No rain to turn our faces up to. The wind listless and sullen by turns.
Each day a perfect blue, an uneasy reminder that all is not well, that something approaches, we see the shape of the shadow and shiver for the whispers and echoes, although the chill has yet to reach us.
What will we recall of these days, later, after, in the long season where all this blue is paid for?