Summer Slits Her Throat
Walking in the valley tonight and the green I love so dearly is quietly and swiftly fading; bleeding its way into yellow, orange, burgundy. It’s a beautiful and amazing time, this, now. The leaves are transmogrifying but have yet to bust to the dark gray of the sidewalks. The air holds that strop that winter hones her teeth on. Strolling and chewing up a perfectly fine autumn evening with the trees and leaveless steps and somewhere someone is fretting over gas prices. Sporadic joggers drop steps to the dark walks – those “multi-use” trails that belong to everyone but are owned by the cyclists. A few of them, too, and they speed past with the usual lack of concern, bells ringing and drivechains punching. Downtown sits nobly on the edge of the north shore, her spires appearing extra-clear this night. The yellow leaves stir up the senses and the memories – school starting, loves ending, things beginning. So short is this season. Every season, really. Ephemeral is summer’s hickey. Thin are autumn’s leaves. I take a drag of the city beautiful, a deep inhale, her noseblood rushing in and lighting a smile. Valley still holds onto a sprig of green, the odd tree in defiance of earth’s tilt. On this quiet path the leaves will soon reside. As we all do, they wait for the blurry white.