Last week the temperature was 96 degrees, and now the slant of the sun shifts ever so slightly, and nights are cooler, and you know it's coming: the end of summer. There's no denying this seasonal death. No onslaught of heat in September can render it null, no storybook-pleasant afternoons will slow its steady and certain approach.
Tonight we feasted on grilled fowl and buttered corn, quaffed our fill of Portuguese red wine outside on the deck, the cats flitting about us ever after the proverbial cranefly, ever hopeful for a proffered bit of charred bird flesh. The Big Questions arose: god (God), faith, religion. My husband, my step-son, his fiance. Six tiny squares of bittersweet chocolate as an afterthought, one for each and then two more for claiming.
And what is it that keeps you moving forward through each successive day? Is it, for you, the promise of chocolate? And if yes, is that sufficient? Is anything enough? What sleight of hand do you employ to trick you onward, each minute meted out, each tick tick tick more portentous than the last?