Ode to the Waning Summer

As August reaches its end and the mornings turn cool, I’m thinking of summers past, of porch swings and balmy nights, of railroad tracks and aimless adventures.

Some years ago now, a very close friend and I went on an impromptu trip to the charming town of Jefferson in East Texas. We stayed in an old mansion with five course breakfasts served in crystal and silver. In the morning we explored long streets, bayous and byways. In the afternoon we drank milkshakes at the Drug Store, and in the evening we got locked in an old antique store (but that’s a story for another day). At night we sat on the porch swing as the stars came out and the cicadas sang, and our thoughts turned to love and fairy tales and summers of long ago.