I find that in the summer's end, while many things change,

many things stay. I take the taxi to the hill. I scatter dust
as I run down the sloping grass, wondering why --

why the days blink so fast? The season is changing and so is my
My thoughts are flying a million directions; and to my
indignation, some are wanting to lie dormant, wrapped cozily
in a tartan plaid
! My summer impulsive wildness is getting sleepy
and swirling smoke and fires and flickering shadows on the

walls sound nice. The warm breeze reminds me of coldness and
scarves. My
ideas are starting to turn... turn colors like the
leaves soon will. And my thoughts... oh my thoughts... some are
flying south, but some... some are dreaming of cinnamon and
wool, hungrily dreaming of past summer days as if they were a
custard of pleasant fairy tales. Oh. And taxi! Could you please
stop at the next coffee shop?

I need some warmth from this sudden chilliness.

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