We’re so entrenched in our little moments we hardly notice the rains come. They fall and they fall and we register them only vaguely as they place delicate kisses at the tips of our noses.
We hardly notice the petals of the crepe myrtle littering the ground like summer’s little sacrifices. Drowned in small pools like the bugs of yore preserved in amber.
Warmth still grasps to the air in a humid blanket that lays across our calculating heads. It swims around our tensed skin and whispers “cling to me, I haven’t yet gone”. We don’t sense that anything is changing, it’s all the same to us.
We observe with inattentiveness the wind as it invites itself over our threshold to dance with the curtains. We watch as they tango with fervor like they haven’t in months and we don’t spare the time to be tickled by it. Perhaps in passing we wonder if something nipping tread upon our skin.
Suddenly we emerge from our worlds of fancy to a chilly night. The rain still falls, so slowly it’s almost silent. It pools at our feet and echoes the glow of the world around us. It flits before our unadjusted eyes like some enchanted being. The wind delights that we joined, it rushes to greet us in a brisk waltz turn.
We hardly noticed that September had come.