Autumn is coming, despite the unending heat, still loud cicada's songs, deeply green leaves, short sleeves and wishes for cooler days.
It's a premonition, the feeling of the season aging slowly and inevitably like anyone or anything we know. And because it is time.
You know it when the sun starts looking at you from a slightly different angle. Shortening hours of the day and cooler nights, few dry golden leaves here and there, lying on the ground lightly scratching the surface of a street, adding another color to the whole composition. The pace is slowing down like a train coming to the final stop.
The slow motion of the change is comforting. No one is in a hurry to immerse in a new season. We all know what's behind it. It will be cold and long winter (or at least it'll seem longer than necessary, as it often does).
Soaking up the sun, hesitating to give up summer attire to more calendar-appropriate choices, avoiding the inevitable sadness of upcoming months, holding on to the fresh memories and not letting go...yet once again anticipating each step of yearly cycle as given without an argument or a wish of change.