Indian Summer

I love the illusion of warm days in late fall when sunshine is translated into innumerable shades of gold and amber and crimson. 

Ever so slowly the colors fade, even the green of suburban lawns. 

 Of course colors will remain but the residuals will become softer – gentle echoes of autumnal splendor, turning cooler, like the weather. 

Trees, unadorned will reveal their inherent traceries against beige blue skies. 

I know it is coming – the cold, slippery season. 

 It will have its own beauty, its own quality of the sacred. 

 But not yet. 

 Today I sit on my porch swing absorbing the waning warmth and colors, perfectly happy to pretend it will stay this way forever.