there is a season [turn, turn, turn]

I wish that I could capture that notable autumn chill that suddenly appears after so many days of scalding heat.  It seems cooler now than it will in coming weeks, like the icy shock of pool water following a rolling hot tub boil.  And so it goes that I pulled on a low-cut tank top and left for classes without a cardigan - when every other muggy day it idled in the depths of my purse, crumpled and unused.

Crisp as the air was against my bare arms, I couldn't complain - then or now.  I adore nothing like the first of Fall, walking to my car beneath the orange glow of street lights after hours of class, knowing that some years ago this is when my life began.  Again, there is beginning in the turning of leaves and the slow process of cooling southern earth.  Change hangs just beyond my grasp in this different town, this strange place where the new path pleads to be journeyed.  

And onward I travel.