Summer's light is dying.
Everything is becoming golden, in that soft way that gently announces Autumn is on her way. The sun shining through the branches of the oaks in the morning casts a soft yellow haze over the world; everything is softer, more magical and lovely.
In the evening, as the sun casts his dying orange light over the world, beckoning forth the moon, we take walks and note the subtle beginnings of the turning leaves. The air feels lighter, the bird song is changing.
The garden is turning forth its last Summer harvests, a few more tomatoes and small hot peppers. The squash died of powdery mildew and the cucumbers were taken by the larvae of moths weeks ago. Meager effort though I put into it during my time as a rotund planetary body, the harvests were more abundant than we could eat alone. Plans for Spring planting already dance in my mind.
But now, the season of my heart is coming. The time when nature is dressed in its very best crimson and gold. The time of early nightfall illuminated by fires. Of cool nights and breezy days. It'll be here soon.
Once Summer's light has fallen.