Kage Baker. Heat breaking, wind cooling, leaves turning and falling and lying like lace on the parts of the lawn that survived the summer onslaught. Swallows yielding place to the bats of an evening, fewer and slower crickets, rose hips and lemons so ripe they’re orange. Apples. Pumpkins. Corn.
One solitary cucumber that lived through the summer.
Having run in a large circle and come back to – mirabile dictu! – a new season that will let me breathe and walk simultaneously, I can now attack the wall of writer’s block with some hope of victory.
Normal broadcasting will resume tomorrow.