Chasing fireflies with round fan, in light clothes
Courtyard steps feel cool as water in the night
Sitting there alone watching stars in black skies”
A beautiful and somewhat lonely depiction of an early fall evening. No, I didn’t write that. I wish I could.
Or if I could put the words together so eloquently as Lou did in one of her poems:
“As soft mist lingers white over waters
starched by the cold hand of frost”
She has such a way with words, doesn’t she? Instead, I wrote the following:
The air feels a little chilling in the morning. I put on the light sweater the first time in a long time.
The heater kicked off one early morning unexpectedly, startling me and the puppy.
Hot coffee in the morning doesn’t feel hot enough, and gets cold sooner than days before.
A sip of brandy at night warms me up more agreeably, and no longer makes me sweat.
That was all I could say about fall season in California. I have good reasons. This is a fall scene you will likely see here:
It isn't a joke - I’m dead serious. In fact, it could be worse. I saw this a little further down the road:
If you were lucky you might see this (Yay! Red leaves.):
But I got real lucky today and saw this - finally, some real fall pictures. (Okay, that was the only one I saw):
I could practically hear the two maple trees arguing:
“No it’s not.”
"I’m telling you kid, it’s fall.”
“And I’m telling you pops, it’s not!”
I needed to take a shower for sweating too much from walking the dog. It was a sunny 75-degree “fall” day. Now you know why I’m not a poet.