It was the last days of warm sand.

Afternoon shadows lay long and slender.

The sun slipped away a little earlier and the

clouds appeared thinner from where I stood.

Season change is a transition of the soul,

a sacrifice without choice; the end of one,

the beginning of another.


A rightly authority turns the months over,

repositioning without trouble a different

aroma in the air, leaves not so green,

less traffic, fewer people and the sand a

little cooler.

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