A few last okra blossoms.
Two late roses, dry leaves on the ground.
When fall came a haze lay across the cornfields, across the stands of goldenrod and farewell summer, until heaven and earth seemed bound together . . .
It was an in - between time: afternoon bygone, night not yet come, neither summer, nor fall. Leaves had had a six months' term, but still they hung, dusty and frayed, to the trees. Blooming was past, though. A rose that very morning, round and firm to the eye as an apple, dropped its petals at Mattie's feet as suddenly as if winter had exploded in its heart. Days began brisk, were finger-cold in the mornings . . . but by noon there was June heat and coats were a nuisance . . .
There was a a flutter of yellow across the driveway in the orchard, a butterfly . . . but no, it was a leaf falling from the Rambo tree. Good, she thought, summer is ending. (pp 4, 92)
by Jessamyn West
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My mother set off to see Comrade Wang one morning on a mild autumn day, the best time of year in Jinzhou. The summer heat had gone and the air had begun to grow cooler, but it was still warm enough to wear summer clothes. The wind and dust which plague the town for much of the year were deliciously absent. (p 115)
by Jung Chang
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Goodbye Summer . . .
. . . Hello Fall!
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