I see you, Fall, pulling in the driveway, rolling up black and the smell of hide flirting with my nose, that leather interior teasing my skin. I see your back seat filled with fireplaces roaring, sharpened pencils, layers and tweeds and the real promise of a fresh start. Your tank is filled with pecan pie and hot chocolate and comfort.
I see you pulling in, but don’t turn your engines off just yet. Not yet.
There are a few weeks of summer still left. There is still time for ice cream, and seafood fresh from its home. There is still the sun and the water and fruit-based cocktails with friends. For a few more weeks there are not alarm clocks or schedules or pants if we so choose. And we so choose.
For a few more weeks there is one long exhale, sun-induced naps, and ice cream sandwiches. There is bronzer, not foundation, there are ponytails and there are pink cheeks that don’t require blush.
For a few more weeks my mind gets to have enough space to wonder, to remember.
For a few more weeks, so not yet.