November

Summer is gone. Gone is the warm sand between my toes, the cool embrace of the lake. It ebbed, it flowed, it ebbed again, lost until a different season. Gone are the sun's warmth, deep blue skies, and succulent greens. Gone are the vibrant fields of wildflowers. No more warm summer nights spent laughing and relaxed outdoors with friends. 

Greens replaced with vibrant color, finally succumb to the greys and browns of November. Fields are barren and bleak. Trees stand bare, nothing left but moody shapes and rough textures. They creak and bend as the wind buffets them relentlessly. The wind rattles them like bones; it cuts through my clothes to my very being. 

Yellow light pours through windows, a respite from the cold. Welcome warmth can only be found indoors. The cotton candy evening sky becomes a bruised and faded revenant. It weeps against my windows, all drizzle and sleet. 

But still, only a hint of what's to come.