A wind blew in, one not native to summer.

A long sigh from the Big Dog. I feel that way tonight too. I beat back a sense of despondency a moment ago. It has no place here. Big Dog tosses and turns from his place on the cold tile. I’m sitting in a ball like how people draw mice in children’s books, my imaginary tail wrapped around me here on the couch. I feel caught in flux. I am sitting here like it is the introspective time of year, but it isn’t.

Things have been a bit off all summer. I wasn’t meant for summer this year.

I inhaled a piece of pumpkin pie earlier. It was the first of the season. I enjoyed whisking together all that velvety pumpkin, the orange color so welcome. Slippery egg yolks, deep colored from all those weeds in the backyard that make chickens happy, adding to the orange brilliance. Brown spices stirred in, sprinkled about like brown glitter. Then for the crust laid out and crimped, with the addition of little kid finger impressions throughout.

We make a lot of pumpkin pies between September and November. It is a tradition. We started early this year, because I am ushering summer out the door.

I felt chilled when I got out of the pool this evening. A wind had suddenly blown in, one not native to summer. It has been a long time since I was cold. I hate that feeling of cold entering the body—such an unhealthy feeling, but I’ll take it, to push summer on out.

Introspective time is when thoughts are made, still and cozy, by golden lamp light. Seeds saved, books laid out, dogs curled up on rugs, steaming drinks set on the coffee table. Time slows down through those long nights.

But it isn’t time yet. Summer is still here. So I’m just sitting here in flux. Zero inspiration. Just eating pumpkin pie.

It could be worse.