The September sky. Looking up at it, it’s not the deep blue of a midnight summer sky, the heavy reminder of warm air and stars and sunshine in the morn. The September sky is a dull, orangey-grey, a warning of October, a lupine, clove, wild and chilly canopy over the damp night. The September sky beckons and calls you to forget your civilian and humane duties and curl, cat-like, under a shedding tree, in the pumpkin and allspice and dying leaf air. It wants you to be slowed. Contemplative. Not so human and consumed. September skies call you to realize that things are changing, and things are dying, and sometimes that is okay. Sometimes it is that time. Time for wolves and things to turn all shades of brown. Times to fall.
September skies. Time passes. Things die.
But one thing September skies do not tell about, in all of their muted, midnight glory, is regret.
But do you?