Heavy warm skies an amplifier for the smell of dust and waiting Grasshoppers in the brittle grass sing their praises to the yellowing leaves fallen from the first shivering trees And I sit under the wilting climbing rose bush catch glimpses of a quiet conversation held by strangers on the other side of the hedge just like fall is patiently whispering to me from somewhere on the other side of september the sun still warm but just a thin veil for the cold winds nestling in my hair these are the last silent sighs of the dying dog days And I become unrelentingly aware that all of my beginnings started with the ending of this season