Not green; not yet gold. The hot afternoon sun starts to shiver shortly after 4:00 p.m. Cracks crawl through the spent soil, yet the evenings are dew-heavy with fingers of fog arising from every low place the next morning. It is not summer, but not yet fall. Like me. In a temperate zone, nothing stays the same. Each day in nature here turns the wheel one click toward something else. As in our lives. If only it could stay September. September is a lovely moderation. The humidity of the Lower Mississippi Valley becomes more miserable each summer. Our snow is occasional, but the droopy slate skies and barren winter trees seem endless. Spring here is as mad as youth and just as unpredictably beautiful with blooms, then ugly with ominous thunder. September is such a pleasing moderation. I always wish it would linger. If I could be a month, I would be September. I wear September well. I call this photo Linger because when time turns the wheel one more click toward something else for me, I can always come back here and sit cross-legged without a jacket, until the end of time.

Copyright RC 2015

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