Today I took a walk in central park for my lunch break. I fear the time change, when suddenly it will be dark when I leave work. Then I’ll really have to accept that the winter is coming, and that there will be no more long evenings sitting on my roof looking out at the trees and buildings and open apartment windows, smoking shisha and watching the sky. It will all be cold air and protection, chapped lips and the wind howling through the narrow streets.
So I spent an hour in the early afternoon walking around in the sheep meadow, spinning in circles, watching the frisbees fly back and forth. The sun felt like honey, warm pouring over me wherever it touched, the shadows cool as glass. Why didn’t I spend every day doing this? Is the coming of fall inextricably tied to regret?
Now is the last sip of summer, when the sweetness has collected in the bottom of the glass and you’re heartbroken because there’s not enough left to savor, and you just have to tip your head back and try to catch every drop.
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