Four. Changes.


I can feel the burned-out end of summer days settling on me. The grass is brittle, dry, browning, and when the humidity lifts, I get a sense that, well, yes, the Earth is turning again, creaking on towards Fall and Winter in its never ending waltz with the sun.

People are posting: children’s first-day of school photos, teachers’ first day of school musings. We are getting ready to move up a half-grade, if you will, at day care, from the younger side of the 1-to-2-year-old room to the elder side. I find myself wondering if Spring’s pants and long-sleeved shirts will still fit them, and then I hold one up and think, well no, most likely not.

And yet. It’s still regularly 90. I still feel torn between jeans because of air conditioning or shorts because of heat. The back patio is still littered with summer detritus: pool floaties, swimsuits and towels towels drying, bottles of bubbles. It’s still very firmly summer.

But the world is turning again, and I feel it in my bones.

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