It happens every year, without warning.

Summer is still in full swing, the sun still bright and hot, the days long and hot. I break a sweat easily during these days, pausing mid-activity to discover I am soaked by the summer mingling of humidity, temperature, and exertion.

And then suddenly the pattern breaks. In rushes a few days or a week of cooler than average temperatures, and the sky yields its sun-bleached blue to a thick monotony of gray. Rain comes, slow and steady, fall-like. And before I know it, I am yearning for the next season.

Mine has been a full summer, filled with family, adventure, and fun. I weathered a minor hurricane at the beach, hiked a glorious loop in the Linville Gorge Wilderness, tackled countless little problems around my home and yard. My husky caught his first possum (not last, I fear, given the apparent IQ of possums). And while summer has been wonderful and intoxicating, a few recent days of rain and cooler than normal temperatures have planted a seed within me. It is the yearning for colors on the trees for crisp leaves underfoot, for a cold breeze on my cheeks and the joy of hot coffee in my mug. It is the longing to sit and lose myself in the lambent flames of a campfire when those flames are warm and welcome. One day before I know it, fall will be here, ushering in its own joys.

For now, working and playing under the summer sun, I must be patient.

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