In the last weeks of summer, heat and stillness hang in the air. There is a thin, distant pain that permeates the world as the reality sets in that nothing is moving. A vague hopelessness is setting in. Even the oppressive moisture hangs in the air, steaming and refusing to quench. Summer is the unending heat in which we toil with no reward.
Autumn is motion; autumn is cool, clean air. It is as if someone pulled out the a stopper and everything is moving again. Autumn is the bounty of the harvest. The leaves celebrate a job well done as they are filled with color and swirl to the ground.
Even the people twirl and dance, donning costumes to celebrate the equinox. Feasts abound and families gather. Pumpkins, turkeys, pies and yams fill the tables.
Even the television networks are in motion. All of the stagnation of summer is cleared out as autumn is at full velocity, a momentum ready to carry us through the winter into the Spring.
