This is not the end of summer, it simply feels like it is, the last days of freedom (I thought as a kid) before needing to contemplate a return to school books, Jerry Lewis giving us the count down with his telethon.
But even now, after so many years, I still feel sad at this
time of time, counting down the last few days, and when I feel most alone, and
realizing I had not found what I thought I would find when I looked ahead as a
kid, not able to explore the landscape I hoped to when the summer began.
Though still warm, I already feel the edges of the oncoming
chill, hints of rain I know will disrupt the world and begin our slow decline
into winter.
I ache most for someone to keep warm with, the press of
heavenly bodies as a buttrace against the cold, the slow rub, the making of fire,
the heat from within.
I still ache for what I could not make when you were in a
closer geography, and though you still reside here, your shadows stretches out
across the world as the days grow shorter, and like summer, you vanish bit by bit,
too cold, too distance to recover on this last day before Labor Daly steals it
all away.
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