End of the weekend. End of the month. Nearly the end of the first half of the year. Life is going frighteningly fast. Whoosh! Flash... before my eyes. Zip! Gone!
The first month of Autumn, the leaves start to fall. The colours of Autumn, yellow, orange, red, purple, and brown. Natures glory. Dazzling. Then the garden sheds it’s clothes. It’s jackets, its jumpers, its coats, stripped bare for the winter, it is minimalist for the cold.
“Don’t you love autumn?”
“I prefer summer.”
“But all the colours?”
“No, I prefer summer.”
“Don’t you love jumpers and coats and long walks under the red, orange and golden leaves on the trees?”
“I prefer the sun.”
“But isn’t it lovely to stand in front of open fires?”
“I prefer the heat?”
“Standing in front of air conditioners?”
“Well, yes, I guess,” he said. “And swimming in the sea.”
“Snuggling down under warm blankets and being able to sleep.”
“I just prefer the heat.”
“All those nights you can’t sleep?”
“Yes please.”
“Well… each to his own.”
“Each to his own... and isn’t that a great thing?”
“It’s a great thing?
“You’re cold and I’m hot.”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that.”
“I would…”
“Would you?”
“You have made certain admissions…”
“Certain admissions?”
“Indeed,” he said. “And the evidence speaks for itself.”
“But surely, you have it backwards?”
“Backwards?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Indeed.”
“How so?”
“Well, if I love the cold, surely that makes me hot…”
“You think?”
“And if you like the heat, doesn’t that makes you cold.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It is only logical, my friend.”
“Only logical, you say?”
“I do.”
“I call bullshit.”
“But you have made certain admissions.”
“Admissions?” you say.
“Yes, the evidence now speaks for itself.”
“I guess, we will have to agree to disagree.”
“I guess we will, even if I hate that expression.”
“You hate that expression,” he says.
“I do. I am clearly right.”
“You think?”
“I just said it, didn’t I.”
“You did.”
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