Ai! Autumnus

It is that day.

That day when Summer has unquestionably recused itself, when the clear blue sky and the golden sun and the desperate earth embrace as friends again, and the people of the City snap alive from their suffering swelter.   That day when the breeze is electric, like a promise, and it chases through the streets in blessing, and everyone has somewhere to go, and someplace to be and something to do.

I should not be here.  I should be far to the north, at an outdoor café, lingering over a golden brown cup of loose leaf Irish Breakfast tea and the remains of a croissant with honey, writing postcards in black ink and drinking in the scent of the leaves on the wind.

But I’m not.