Flowers on curtains. Sunlight coming through blinds. A wooden mantle with framed pictures on it; some in color, others black and white. The air-conditioner whines.

I sit here staring out the window in the late month of August, hoping October comes soon. Green. It is too green. What was fresh in April is now dull to the senses.

Give me death. Orange, rust, and yellow with reds turning brown, withering, falling to the ground. Kids marching through piles of nature on their way home from school. Jackets buttoned. Noses running. Lips chapped. Summer has left us.

I wait for the dying months. The frozen ground. Ice on wires. Salt on sidewalks. Winter’s seasoning. Every year, the same great flavor. Death  never disappoints.