Summer broke the other day and I went out walking in the damp dusk, sort of a lonely wake for the beloved season.
The wind had swung around to the northwest and it blew brisk and heavy
with the sharp sweet scent of mint almost ready for the harvest. A
versatile crop, mint — its oil adds the tang to both the chewing gum
which attacks our teeth and to the fluoride-laced paste which defends
our enamel against all manner of enemies.
In the field by the junior high a dozen or so kids, elementary age by
the look of them, scurried about, clad in helmets and full pads. The
shoulder pads, in particular, gave them ungainly and odd proportions —
the broad upper body of a mature weightlifter attached to the skinny
and short legs of the pre-adolescent.
Anyway it was pleasant to walk past and hear the inimitable clap of plastic pieces colliding.
Football, it seems to me, announces the imminence of autumn at least as reliably as the calendar.