Our solar lamps plead for more sunshine as they die in the middle of dinner every night even in this stark Texas late afternoon light all the while I can still get a beastly burn the faintest suggestion of Fall wafts through the chilled grocery store air rife with frothy pumpkin lattes maybe if I stare long enough at the neighbor’s front porch loaded with gaudy gourds I can almost trick myself into feeling crisp.
My years in Houston , 2002-2006 and the fake feeling of traditional northern Fall with that weird dichotomy of pumpkins and palms in still hot weather.Finished poem today.