SUMMER EXIT...

The ceiling fans are off, and winter is on its way...

Nowadays the southerly breeze doesn't blow in from the fields through my back window with warm-day scents and the sound of long grass and summer attached to it; now it comes in silently and slowly from the north, the only time of year the snow-capped Himalayas share themselves with us. 

And, of course, it's the wrong time of year: where were those cool, frost-winged breezes in the melting, melting, month of May? No doubt those winds reached out, eager to spread their love, but were hurled back to their mountain by the oven-door blast of heat that radiated from the plains of the country they dwell above. No one is free to move in the summer here...not even the wind.