It's Fall, guys.
I'd done my ritual,
and I'd officially accepted it.
Coat, socks, rain.
But last night at Sprouts,
there was a big ugly empty spot
where the yellow peaches
were supposed to be.
Genevieve asked them to check.
And the handsome clerk came back and said,
That was the last of them."
It felt like a sentence of death.
I got tears in my eyes.
I don't know what my deal is.
This is the twenty-third time
that this earth has shed summer
and put on autumn
since I got here.
But this time I'm taking it hard.
There's beauty to it, of course.
I feel like I can see God
in the snow on the mountaintops,
in the inexorable change of the seasons.
And even though they didn't have peaches,
Sprouts had pallets and pallets
of honeycrisp apples.
When I got home,
I hugged my bag of apples
and smelled them
and cried again.