Green grass turning brown from September’s heat. Flowers dying. Black-eyed Susans wilting as housewives place mums in baskets much too early. Autumn will be here soon enough. Leaves will change. Morning dew. Crisp air for kids waiting at the bus stop. Morning sunshine and rainy afternoons.

Some do not want summer to end. They like the heat they say. Tans on wrinkled bodies. Sunday BBQ on a new Weber. Charcoal burning. Beers are popped open. Women sit underneath umbrellas gossiping. Husbands talk of football, baseball, and how all is going great in suburbia. Kids ride bicycles on sidewalks, and hopscotch is played.

She waters her plants. Cacti have been dry for weeks now. She read in a magazine to tend to them every month. Blossoms appear.

The young wife talks to herself. Carries on conversations about what she is missing in life. She laughs. Another mistake made, she whispers. Another mistake made.

They met in a bar filled with those searching for something. A wife. A husband. A life like mom and dad’s. Chicago is wearing on them. Some are not made for the city. They cringe at night alone in their beds. They tire of taking the L. No parking spaces. Tickets on cars.

They meet and fall in love. Or, what they think is love. Security is not love. They move in together and play house. He proposes, and voila, they are out in the  burbs cooking hotdogs with Catsup on them.

She waters plants. He mows the yard. Dinner is served at 6:00 p.m.

Dreams do come true.