Going, going, almost gone.

I stopped by my favorite beach today after lunch. I sat for a bit and read, wearing long pants and a sweater. The sun warmed my face and I slid my bare feet along the hot sand.

But it won't last. As I tucked my beach chair into the back of the car, I wondered how long before it is replaced with the snow brush and scraper.

Even the beach roses appear to have shrunk, as if in readiness from the cold onslaught from the sea. Only a blossom or two can still be found and the rose hips are red and ripe and full.

Last night I heard an owl and then the haunting sounds of geese flying overhead.
It's time to settle in; time to await the cold, the wind, the solitude winter brings out in me.
For me, this is a sad time. A tipping point - waiting on the edge of winter. And mourning the loss of summer.