Autumn came late. The sun seemed to be sleeping in. I tried hard to find an appropriate poem, but nothing fit my mood. Most poems were about loss, old age, the dying ember. But that is not how I feel about autumn, perhaps because I grew up in the south. Autumn is relief from summer's horrid grip, a relaxing, a return. The shadows begin to grow long across the lawn. As leaves fall, finally the sky returns, in color, rid of it's metallic hue. Dead air and threatening storms, summer is. Now come the autumnal breezes.
I learned to read with Dick and Jane. In memory, they mirrored the seasons. I loved those autumnal colors. It was a happy place and time.
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