Come read the lovely “Change Of Season” and the last kiss of summer.
Sultry days retreat into cool nights where stars explode on velvet ink skies. We slip down that old dirt road past the soaring birch dropping its golden leaves to collect dew covered one-eyed susans before frost claims their waning blooms.
Like runaway children, we laugh as we traipse through the mud to reach the top of the hill that overlooks the sea below, pointing to forgotten clothes that dance on a line strung between cottages packed up for the season. A finale of sorts in a small tourist town.
The moon casts a beam that cuts through the darkness as we wave to ships returning to port. They’ll never see us but we wave anyway. Traditions embedded in the fabric of this enchanted place die hard. I shiver as you tuck a flower in my salt-sprayed hair.
And when our lips finally meet, we celebrate this last kiss of summer.
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