But the trees are blowing instead of standing motionless in the searing summer heat. And the air that's tossing my hair into tangles is cooler. The light is different too...more intense and richer than the blinding summer light.
It makes me dream of cool nights, soft quilts, warm sweaters, bowls of hot soup, and crackling fires on long evenings shared with friends and stories and laughter.
Odds are the heat will stick around awhile longer here. And the leaves might not ever turn orange or red. But if the Farmer's Almanac is right, the season of warm sweaters and hot soup isn't far away.
I'll wait. It is all coming...it's in the magic in the air.