You can finally have a cigarette at night. You can finally enjoy a walk. Lungfuls of cold air feel as welcome as the arms of a loved one. You embrace the chill, and enjoy that little bit of bite it leaves on your skin.

Summer is over. The heat, the madness, and the noise have all faded with the green leaves. You’ve survived, yet again. You’ve endured the nights of sweat and booze. You’ve endured and come out on top again, lean and mean and welcoming a chance to get back into a life unencumbered by such bullshit as, “nice weather, sunshine, and good times.” That was always as hollow and cheap as warm light beer to you.

The leaves are dying, but you feel more alive than ever. A stiff scotch and a novel are waiting on the bedside. Your mind feels sharp, it having emerged from the soup of stagnation that all that heat was bringing you. You’re creative. You’re ready. You’re ready for a new phase of life, and you can’t wait to tear into it.

So you snub out your cigarette and light up another. You think of your lover and smile. Things are good for once. You’re happy. They’re happy. The stars have just got to have aligned for that to happen. You think of an old Paul Simon song about lovers, and whistle the chorus between drags.

Winter may be coming, but you have no worries. Because autumn is here, and nothing could be better.

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