Thunder roars overhead at the time of this writing. Peering out my window at the storm clouds this morning, I was struck by how unfamiliar they seemed. We have passed through many weeks of extreme heat, skies swept perpetually clear of obtrusive clouds. This morning brings change, a reprieve. I am thankful.
Students are returning to classes, and August is about to pass away. This has caused many to lament the passing of summer. Summer will remain a little while yet, but its days are numbered. I will wait patiently, and bid it adieu at the proper time.
And, when finally released from summer's grip, which held us like a prison inside our homes and offices allowing only for sweet moments by the pool, I will beckon to all to witness fall's entrance. We will camp and hike, stand out in the rain and let the cool drops kiss our foreheads.
It is a wonderful thought. I wonder if I'm alone in this feeling. The shift of seasons holds the portent of deeper change. It is a feeling surrounded by celebration and ritual preceding recorded human history. Yet, in this modern world, is this something that still touches the conscious mind? It touches mine. Perhaps it is the bequest of a thousand years of ancestral expectation, but I await change.
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