A slight delicious twist of a chill in the air reminds me that summer doesn't stick around.
A lone sunflower stalk bares its head above the tall weeds in the garden and the green pumpkins blush orange.
My sweater makes its way from the depths of my closet and perches on my shoulders; wrapping me in lovely, soft warmth.
The shadows vanish as the sky becomes a dome of muted purples and grays and rain begins to fall in small beads.
Hundreds of swallows stand out against the clouds as they pass over me; their beaks turned southward.
The yellow tassels on the corn stand out against the green beneath them and the gray above.
A tiny bird is perfectly framed in a diamond in the chain link fence.
The cement is darkened by puddles which make the ground look glossy and mirror the weather.
Fruit litters the ground underneath the trees and a few leaves have turned yellow and hang heavily.
The outline of the mountains is barely visible through the distant sheets of rain and a sudden rainbow arches its way around it.
The colors are more colorful in this weather somehow.
Bird and cricket noises fill the empty spaces.
Unnecessary sprinklers chatter in the neighbor's yard.
The air conditioner growls on the side of the house.
My dog speaks up and is answered by a distant friend.
The leaves rub against each other and make hissing noises.
When the rain lets up and a breeze picks up the scent of the clean, damp air, patches of dry cement creep around the edges and spread quickly.
Once the clouds move over and the mountains are lit up, traces of color can be seen where the trees must be changing.
I think summer has put in its two weeks notice.
