In the light of this late summer day, in the breeze that is wringing it dry, the drone of cicadas gives way to the squealing of school bus brakes. The fluttering of young voices. The honking of car horns.
I feel the presence of a collective circadian rhythm wrapping around me, concussing me with the knowledge that it is beginning again. That movement forward, that sense of purpose that comes as the leaves start to turn color.
It happened too quickly and will be gone far too soon. The blurring of seasons, the clashing of summer against autumn. Shorts and sandals, schoolbags and homework. Geraniums spent, mums on the stoop. Drying lawns scattered with withering leaves.
I love the ambiguity of it all. The tease. Warm days, cool nights.
Open windows at last.