The First Day of Fall

 

 

  The first day of fall is here. I can smell it, feel it, taste it. The air has cooled. Not that it is yet time for us to bundle up in sweaters and scarves. We can sit outside without boiling in our own sweat is all. The smell of smoke lingers in the air, faint but unmistakable. Someone has burned the summer's cuttings. Leaves have fallen, lying crumpled and brown beneath the trees that bore them all summer. Their brothers and sisters that cling tightly to the branches are as green and as vibrant as they have always been. They may yet have a chance to turn. The tiniest of raindrops patter gently down, cooling the air, the land and the pool water. Staining the paper on which I write, making the blue lines turn to puddles on the sheets.
  Fall is a season of change. A buffer between the hear of summer and the chill of winter. A time of harvest and bonfires and lightweight sweaters and sleeves. It is a time to close up. I've never cared for fall. Not that dislike the attributes of the season. I'm just never ready for the summer to go. I still want to lay in the grass and stare at the blue sky. I still want to be able to swim and eat watermelon and tiger's blood snow cones. But all good things must come to an end and in the case of summer turning to fall, it is so one good thing can make way for another.