sweeping summer out the door

Here we sit in the space between summer and fall, where one season breathes in and the other breathes out. Keats called it the "season of mist and mellow fruitfulness," when the peaches are plump and the plums turn sweet. We step with flip flopped feet, peeling toe polish, and fading tans on sidewalk that cools by evening, passed sheep grazing in pastures soon-to-be-gold as their coats thicken with wool to cover our toes with the first sign of frost. We watch trees become kaleidoscopes overnight, turning too many colors to name, and we gaze as the big dipper dips and bows in preparation for the return of Orion to the night's sky.

{photo from Labor Day adventuring}