This latitude

This time of year inevitably brings stories and poems from people in higher latitudes telling stories of summer giving way to change. This may come in the form of snowflakes for some, or crisp cold barren breezes for others.

For me, however, this time of year is not an end to summer, it's a gradual surrender of it. It's as though Mother Nature dipped her paintbrush in brown, then yellow, then red, then green. All summer long her brush strides across the canvas, smooth beautiful green. Then when the breezes cool, the green gradually eases into the red, then the yellow, then finally the brown.

At this latitude, summer doesn't end, it waxes for a little while giving way to cooler colorful days, then wanes back a few months later when Mother Nature's refills her brush.

I am thankful I live in this latitude.