The day I’d been dreading all summer finally happened last Friday. On Thursday, the weather was fine. The boys were playing nicely. We’d had dinner with friends. The kids had splashed around in a small pool. It was, perhaps, the quintessential summer evening. ‘We really have had a great summer,’ I reflected. Despite the conspicuous absence of scenery-change [also known as vacation or travel plans.]
And then we went to bed. And while we slept, a cold wind blew in. Except, instead of bringing us Juliette Binoche (a la Chocolat) it brought us……..fall. Or, at the very least, the beginning of the end of summer.
When we woke up, the house – with its open windows – was cold. And later that evening, when the Gort and I were driving to the bookstore on a special mother-son date, I saw it. Them.
‘Look!’ I nearly cried, pointing to the grassy median. My dutiful son looked in the direction I was pointing. ‘No!’ he nearly cried. ‘Get back on the trees!’
Yes. There were leaves. In the grass. Discarded from trees.
Two days later we went out for a little walk slash bike ride en famille. I hung back with Percy who is a bit of a dawdler when not in someone’s arms. There were yellow leaves – on the bike paths. In the grass. In the trees.
The beginning of the end.