I don’t understand those who mourn the end of summer.
Who could weep for the disappearing ultramarine of the sea or swimming pool when one has only to look upon the gorgeous, deep palette that is now autumn?
Bright red berries popping upon branches, burnt orange, russet red and golden yellow leaves twirling to the ground in a dance…Even the sounds have color and taste.
Crows shriek over and over, a rhythm to their speech that sweetens the memory of ripe apples, juicy grapes and plums. The low barking of a dog knells a few times in the distance, beckoning one back home.
All of these spark a strong desire in me to put on my shoes, grab some books to carry and walk in the leaves, kicking them up as high as I can in the air, just like I used to do as a kid walking home from school. But on closer look, there aren’t enough leaves yet so the only kicking I can do is in my brain.