on the endings of summer
she was well acquainted with days like these. late summer days when the sun’s rays had a lazing quality to them, illuminating the highlights in her hair and kissing the rosy on her cheeks. the songs of the crickets did no better at keeping her from slumber; nonetheless, they lulled her into a summer trance.
on days like these, warm, august days, she would have already awoken at sunrise, watched the grey fog dissipate from the crevices of the valley, eaten her morning meal, and set off on her run.
the air was damp and cool but the sun warmed her skin and gave it a golden hue she never failed to wear in the later summer months. she presently thought of the leaves- how they would turn color and eventually fall, taking their place among millions of piles scattered across fields and along the sides of the roads.