Everything...leaves.

I think it’s strange how I’m always surprised at the end of every season how quickly it leaves. It’s like a trick that time plays on me, a magician in charge of their passing, and in one quick movement of a handkerchief - they’re gone. Poof.

Walking through Central Park tonight (as it’s getting darker earlier) I think I saw summer leave. There were the same people about, running or walking, seeing the sights in horse-drawn carriages taking in, perhaps, their last night in Manhattan, ready to fly off tomorrow morning back to where they came from, back to...home.

Walking down 5th avenue alongside the park, I could see in the distance the rows of lining trees, from 86th to 58th, their leaves spreading thin - burnt orange and tan, dry falling fall leaves already collecting on the ground. Summer left, you see, and I hardly noticed. Another summer, another year. I could see the city then at the height of summer, all bright and green, full of warm breezes and sweltering sun.

We never notice, do we? what’s there when it’s there. Like the seasons, these things we take for granted that slowly incorporate themselves into our lives that soon we come to depend on them (our sunny Saturdays and sweet Sundays) - leave fast.

Because like all good things you can’t always see (these too shall pass), one afternoon when the sun is setting far sooner than it should, you’ll find yourself walking through Central Park and see that The Chill has set in yet again -as quickly as light now turns to night, before you even had a chance to say goodbye.