Unless you were severely disappointed by your use of the summer months, which I can’t argue, defend, nor bear to frame in contemplation, you stand a chance at a few humbling things in the next few years.

The weather as of late, the lack of humidity and the heralded cold front made the last morning of my two days off as special as vinyl album covers are to children of the non-cellular generations. Laying on my stomach, on the bed next to the window, watched the tips of the only true blades of actual grass in our front yard glow with the sun, which was still only a cracked egg coming from the east side of town, the rest more blueberry tinted and sibylline.

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