The First Sign – Grace Pending



There’s always that first sign.

Afternoon glasses of cold tea, with their sticky sweetness and fluorescent green straws, feel so out of place once the cool evening sets in.

Hot mugs of cider and cinnamon sticks appear much more proper and dull. At least the skeletal staff of mosquitoes seem to think so.

The backyard leaves quietly begin to fold themselves into shifting piles of reds, and yellows, and browns, and greens attesting to both my lethargy and lack of plans.

The fresh cut smell of grass is quickly fading, while the breeze carries with it a subtle reminder of nearby chimneys that will soon need sweeping.

As the dreadful sound of mowers winds down, neighbors take to prepping their massive winter blowers. I own neither and harbor no regrets.

This plastic furniture will soon be on a winter’s respite, the charcoal and lighter fluid stored away behind the bikes in the garage, and all the windows tightly sealed.

Only then can I finally rest from all this summer laziness.



Copyright (TZampino) 2020

Image Credit: Pixabay

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