I should have written about Fall. I should have praised the fog and cool mornings, chilly evenings, and landscaping trees turning a deep aubergine shade. Autumn, when the heat has passed, the swelter, the too hot brilliance of morning sun. Autumn when we think of pumpkins on vines and in soup, sweaters and frost... I should have written about all of this. But it's hot again. It's the dry, dusty, windblown Autumn that taunts us and teases, and we don't know when it will ever be cool again.
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