Cusp

 

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This morning, crisp air and a backyard littered with leaves. The geraniums are still bright in their pots on the porch, the black-eyed Susans happy, the trees green. It’s the light, full in the sky but not generous enough to spill dappled patches into the yard that tells the truth, speaks seasonal cusp. There are still warm days left, but they are fleeting. Almost-fall is a particular feeling. I can locate it in my sternum, anticipation and a slight unease curl into each notch of breastbone, until the season makes it’s leap into red and orange, jackets and boots, pumpkins and mums. For now I’ll balance in the teetering in-between, crunch of first leaves, everything still green, the day warming toward t-shirt weather.

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Just after writing this, sunshine found its way into the backyard.

(Post 237 of 365)

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