Something about the air. Maybe it is the bike ride out in the country where you can smell the cut hay. Or apples. Or corn. The hazy sun above. The funny light that falls under the trees. But there is something there now that lets you know fall is here. Something that goes all the way back. Back to when you cared about school starting or the sound of leaves underfoot. You almost don't notice it anymore.
But the season has changed and you wonder about the baseball games you did not go too. How did a whole summer slip by without getting downtown? But somehow it did. And now you know it is too late. The speed of life or something. But now you are riding through the country and there is the waiting air. This transition is upon you.
For good or for bad winter is on the way. And maybe that is the breath you feel. The great pause before the great freeze. Almost like the land is bracing itself. Snow will come. Ice will come. And all that summer splendor will be covered up. But for now it is the ride through the gathering storm. Just a touch of fall really.
www.williamhazelgrove.com
But the season has changed and you wonder about the baseball games you did not go too. How did a whole summer slip by without getting downtown? But somehow it did. And now you know it is too late. The speed of life or something. But now you are riding through the country and there is the waiting air. This transition is upon you.
For good or for bad winter is on the way. And maybe that is the breath you feel. The great pause before the great freeze. Almost like the land is bracing itself. Snow will come. Ice will come. And all that summer splendor will be covered up. But for now it is the ride through the gathering storm. Just a touch of fall really.
www.williamhazelgrove.com
