Late August in Philadelphia

Already the oaks are casting their acorns. The yellow leaves of walnuts are descending, and soon the walnuts themselves will thud. Signs of the times and the descent of school.

Philadelphia seems to stay in the low eighties when the humidity is low in the summer, and the skies are deep blue and everything remains green, or has this year. When the humidity is high, it does not settle for low eighties but enters the brutalities of heat, a stagnation full of the mindless noise of insects. I am hoping that this coming week’s warmth is the summer’s last hurrah, and for the lash of rain to mitigate it.

Then let autumn come: more clothes to wear, hot tea, baking and soup, the decline of daylight, the bare branches in the cold wind, the all-embracing winter that brings us all the spectrum of blue light. As high summer is a realm of stagnation, of the multiplication of spring brought into dissolution, autumn returns to contemplation. And winter is the realm of thought.


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