slow fade

This Sunday was a perfect Sunday.

When she looked outside, she could almost see the cool. The sky and the rain had changed, somehow, in the last day or two, and it looked more like sleet or snow, and she thought how deliciously foretelling that was. There was a small part of her that mourned just a bit... mourned for a walk down to the coffee shop that would not be taken today, mourned for a quiet cup of iced tea on the porch swing. But overall, this was still bliss. The chill of fall was not quite here, yet... but it was trying. As she drove home from brunch today, she noticed the tired leaves on the trees, and how some of them had relinquished their green. It was only a few, and only the fingertips of the trees, the ones reaching heavenward, but it still delighted her. There was nothing more magical then the smell of dying leaves, the way they danced around her ankles as she shuffled through them on a walk. And the way the crisp fall morning air infused her lungs with stiffness and reminded her how alive she was.

It was a good time in her life for a transition, even if it was just a season changing into a more tempered state. Life was in a calming pattern, getting more quiet and more even. And like the slow fade of summer into autumn, temperatures moderated and the days began to pace themselves. And tempers simmered and routine bubbled from the chaos and a new life breathed as an old life relinquished itself.

It was a sublime slow fade.