There are clouds that hang low this night, like a blanket over us.
While the evening air has the subtle bite of a new season, you emanate heat that still whispers of summer dusk. A warm breeze that confronts the coming autumn chill and crashes like thunderstorm into me. An audience of just changing leaves tremble at the beautifully obscene vision of the lightning we cast off. We shall not let the dazzling heat and brilliant sunlight die in quiet, we shall rage and honor the passing with lust and exaltation! We shall be naked to the change. Slick in the transition. We are the chrysalis to the joyful dancing of a moth to Fall.
Our hunger a memorial to Summer’s passion and our bodies a sacrifice to Autumnal bliss.
There are clouds that hang low this night…let me wrap us in the grace of the cover they provide, and lay with you until season’s new.