For some weeks now the signs have been there. As my huge sycamore tree drops its brown leaves, the winds strew them over the whole yard. When I turn the car into the driveway, the sight of autumn in my yard hits me in the face, but so does the heat when I open the car door. Since mid July, I’ve been hungry for cooler, brisker air. It’s the eternal cycle, rejuvenation of mankind—womankind, too, I might add. Please, Lord, just a few degrees cooler. I beg of you.
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