Changes

It's getting colder.

At night I can no longer lay on the still-warm grass and look at the stars. Instead, the grass is wet from the rain showers; the moist soil is too cold to sit on. When I look at the sky, I can hardly see the stars behind the dark clouds that cover the heavens like paint on an old canvas.

But, the canvas is now ready to paint again. The white mist of my breath in the cool air dances before my eyes as I exhale. When the cold bites, I hide myself in a fortress of blankets. I enjoy the silence before the rain, the pitter-patter of the raindrops against my window, and the splashes of the puddles as my steps disturb their edges.

So instead of looking down at the grass or up at the sky, I now must look out in front of me. This is not summer anymore. This is a new world.