We never went back; at least, not yet, the chill that arrived
with the rain lingers on even with the return of sunlight, the hope for an Indian
summer fading with each sinking degree, we needing coats, if not yet gloves, to
venture out into the world, the dread of what will come next, through I
suspect, I will stroll through this at that time when the leaves changes, to
feel it down deep in my bones, this end of something that leads to a moment
when we can look ahead to new beginnings, with fall tumbling into the cruelest
months before we can feel warmth again, this late day in mid-autumn when the
world seems strangely at peace, we not quite able to predict exactly what will
transpire, only guesses and dreams that might come real.
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