I'm callin' it-- it's Fall. I don't care what the calendar says, this morning I heard distant traffic gliding through crisp waves. The distinct hum it produces is a hallmark of Fall and reminiscent of bus stops and bitter cold mornings. It's here.
Sure it's the precursor to grey skies and depression, frozen toes and naked trees, but there is a specific nostalgia I experience every year. Just for the season, or for whatever it represents, I feel a tugging magic that Halloween, Christmas, even my birthday no longer hold. And haven't held for a time.
I see my breath for the first time and it is better than seeing the first firefly of Summer. It reminds me of lunchboxes riddled with cartoon heroes, life with parents(in the household, I mean), having pets, leaf piles and acorn fights, an imagination that dominated my life.
The smell of dying leaves, the crisp air-- all my words are weak and futile expressions of the indescribable. Only the waning mating machine gun scratch of cicadas ostends my heart.
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