Dear Summer,

For a few weeks after Labor Day I pretend you won’t leave me. I stroll along the empty beach and wade, alone, in the still-warm water. Trees somewhere else might be screaming with color and light, but here at the shore, the sky is higher and the sea darker. Tiny sanderlings dart from the waves at my feet. I close my eyes and breathe you in, thinking you’re the best season and I will love you forever.

Then, with a quick sweep of goldenrod over the dunes, you’re gone.

I’ll admit to having feelings for Fall, but left as I am, now, with earlying evenings and doles of rain, I’m tempted to flee south and pursue you elsewhere. It’s nothing serious, yet, but there will be apple orchards and pumpkin farms to visit and cranberries ripening in the Pine Barrens. I think you should know that Autumn will tempt my heart away if you’re not generous enough with sunny days.

Icy arrows are pointing the way. Egrets and plovers and laughing gulls blend feathers with sky and are gone with you.

I want to go, too.

Missing you already,
Laura.