Notes to Self. On the Edge of Autumn

 

Every morning, I step onto the porch and the canyon wind greets me. 

It curls around my face, tugging at my hair like an old friend with something to whisper. 

In the evenings it returns, gentler, almost tender, as though reminding me of what lies ahead. I know autumn is waiting just beyond the ridge, but the breeze tells me not to hurry. Summer, it insists, still has a little light left to give—just enough for one more leisurely morning, one more golden evening.

Generally, life is good.