Summer's End
Autumn is portending outside, seeping from an ending into an anxious beginning; knowing what is coming but unsure of how it will go. Summer has been more of a contemplation than a vacation, where presence took a look around and didn't want to join the preoccupied party. The sound of creaking tin, barking dogs, and logging trucks in the distance, ride on the wind through open windows, colouring the silence of 4am. The previous way of spending days no longer holds the same satisfaction, yet continues to bait and switch as if there is a problem with it. No apologies or excuses can explain the changes, though there's no need to justify what's happening; it is simply time passing with guarded ease, deepening wrinkles, and falling leaves - the extant stuff of observation to those beyond a certain age, judiciously accepting their years. Melancholy merriment, complacent discontent; incongruent comforts fill the spaces in. More and more, fleeting moments of bliss belie the ench...