Sleepy Shadows Stretch

The shift begins unnoticed, a quiet agreement between the sun and the leaves. No grand announcement, no blaring headlines, just a gradual softening of the insistent green. A single crimson leaf, a hesitant flag dropped on the battlefield of summer, a whisper of what's to come. The air, once thick and heavy, thins ever so slightly, carrying the faintest breath of something cooler, a promise whispered on the breeze. Shadows lengthen imperceptibly, stretching like sleepy cats in the late afternoon sun, a subtle shift in the day's geometry. Birdsong changes its melody, a few familiar voices depart, replaced by new, tentative calls, a changing chorus in the dawn. Even the rain feels different, no longer a warm, drenching embrace, but cooler, sharper, washing away the last vestiges of summer's dust. It's a language spoken in hues, in the slant of light, in the texture of the air, a silent poem unfolding in the turning of the year. And those who listen closely, who pay attention to the almost invisible, understand the profound wisdom in this slow, deliberate transformation. ©bfa051525