Red and gold and portents of gloom

More than a week into fall, and I’m still not ready for summer to end. I want one more hot day at the beach before fall settles in, bringing winter’s crush all too soon.

It’s not autumn I object to. Autumn means sweaters! That’s one of the few girlie vanity points I make, but there it is. Cooler weather = time to stop being wistful and break the sweaters out of storage.

Other than that, I don’t have much use for fall. I’ve lived too many of them to care about the color change except in idle passing, and certainly won’t be driving around to gawk at leaves with gas running $4 a gallon. Apple cider, football games, the crisp air and crunchy leaves … meh.

It’s a countdown to winter, that’s what it is. And in Michigan, even here under the bridge, winter lasts a damn long time.

So forgive me for not appreciating autumn’s unique beauty for what it is just yet. I see the changing leaves and zoom ahead to black February and the seemingly endless parade of single-digit days.

Just one more day of hot sand and too-cold lake. Then fall can whip its chill wind and I won’t complain as loudly, knowing I seized all I could.

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