To My Dear Friend, Autumn ~ ~
You just haven't been yourself lately, so I'm so glad to see you've finally snapped out of your month-long funk in the last several days.
I've been waiting for you to come for 9 months, and then when you came, you were so grey, so drizzly, so depressing. Was this the Autumn I dreamed of and waited for and bragged about. I've always called you "my favorite," and I'm sorry to admit that for the last several weeks I've been just a little disappointed.
But now you're your old self again.
Autumn . . . the way it should be.
And you'll have to forgive my self-absorbed view of our relationship, but I really do love you so much better this way.
I love your clear, blue skies . . . without a single cloud. I love your snappy, crisp air that makes my lungs tingle when I take my first morning breath outside. And I love, love, love your colors.
Reds that set the crepe myrtles on fire:
Yes, I'd say our relationship is just about perfect now. Because when it comes to us, Autumn, I'm afraid it IS all about me.
Me loving all the splendor and variety and brevity of you.