Tho it may be sunny and nice today here in Toronto, we’re all aware that summer is on its way out the door. Personally I’m thrilled. I can’t wait for autumn leaves and brisk November mornings Turtlenecks and leather jackets. Knee-high boots and knee-length scarves. Anyway I know the majority of you are summer lovers and you may be feeling a bit blue. This marvelous bit prose I found on Iron Monkey may make you feel better. Or worse, who knows. It's a gamble I'm willing to take.
Dispatch from a Deadbeat Muse
Summer leaves Portland without a going-away party. Summer slips away in the dead of night, skipping town with unpaid debts, without a note, no forwarding address, last seen headed south. You wake up early one morning and it's 50 degrees, and you shiver and say, "Oh . . ."
You feel dumped. Summer ditched you. Summer met someone living on the equator, or in Argentina, or somewhere, and moved in with them, and they aren't even as cute as you are. It must have been the accent.
You forage in the kitchen cabinets for coffee beans. You look outside at the stack of firewood. You start making plans for winter, even though it's still hazy in the distance.
The motorcycle starts to feel fierce again. The leathers feel cozy instead of deathly hot. The visor fogs a little in the morning and you realize you'd forgotten how that happens. The little inconvenience seems almost cute.
Summer will be back. It'll come crawling back eventually, drunk and crazy, ranting about the tropics, smelling of Ylang-Ylang and toucan feathers. It always does.
via iron monkey
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