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We are clearly well beyond the summer solstice as the light has changed to the crisper blue that contrasts so well with ripening pumpkins, while a brisk late morning walk continues to pool sweat in the lower back’s hollow and between one’s breasts.

Morning dew counters this lingering summer with cool intimations of darker nights to come, frost glittering white where sunrise fails to muscle aside shade on crisping leaves and thinning grasses that prefer shiver and sway to the inevitable snap and fall.

I roll to one side of the bed and swing my legs over, feet planting firmly on wooden floor, determined to catch these last moments of summer’s soft-damp ground, ears tuned to bird call and the rattling breath of a breeze through trees just beginning to punch out their kaleidoscope of colors.

But first, the coffee…to function.

Cat lifts his head, blinks slowly, and then lowers it; he knows I’ll wash and fill his bowl before I step outside. He also knows that because I’m a sucker, he’ll be fetched for breakfast while the earthy waking libation chugs and spits from the modern fountain of youth, filling my favorite sacrificial hand-turned mug that I’ll drink from as I walk the yard.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2026)