Writing

Wednesday.

When I was a child, summers seemed to stretch on before me like an eternity of years waiting to be lived. I could snuggle in bed and play for as long as I wanted to. Books were my escape when playing seemed too boring to participate in. And Lord, was I an avid reader. I would read everything that I could get my hands on. I even read The Diary of Anne Frank without any prompting. I tended to read a lot of historical and realistic fiction, so it wasn’t quite unusual for me to read such things.

These days, summers seem much shorter. It often feels like two days of bliss, then already fall is coming onto us, taking away the warmth of summer. On Wednesday we had one of our last really nice days before the cold really set in. I went for a hike that afternoon and it was perfect. It was warm and the smell of leaves permeated the air. It felt like it was being wrapped in a blanket; I wish it could’ve lasted forever.

The very next day, fall reclaimed its place on the cold list. Its jealousy of summer’s last days knew no bounds. I stayed wrapped in a blanket, thankful that I enjoyed my last day in summer’s warming rays.

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