find the audio for this post at my pod cast website (free--of course.) http://miriamfeder.com/
The heat of the late afternoon on a fall Sunday has such a desperate sweetness. The days know they can't squeeze this out too much longer-the mornings are cool-no cold, actually. But this long lazy Sunday afternoon seems to make an extra effort. Bright golden sun pounds right down on me in my driveway. In some parts of town the wind whips up ferociously, shooting sparkly cloud displays across blue skies. It's so pretty-the yellow light behind the reddened tree, a few tree-bones peeking out.
But I don't give my heart to these fall tricks. No, you won't catch me saying fall is my favorite season. Oh sure, I'm grateful for the sunny afternoon and the long energetic walk. I pull my mail, my cell phone, and my books outside, hoping for that last soak in the sun. But I've always mistrusted fall, like that family favor you know will end up in resentment, no matter how winning the call.
I know you're up to no good, fall. Your fancy red and gold duds look fine. I'll watch the show, loosen up a little, listen to the band as you're passing me by. But I can't forget where you're taking me. Soon you'll suck the sun clear out of the sky and wring out your fancy laundry on my head.
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