Driftwood cracked in a bonfire and wept. Flames tongued upward and ambled with fatal seduction. Sparks exploded and evanesced in the dark. A transient cloud veiled my beautiful Thuraya, the Pleiades, before she twinkled again for my eyes only. The lights of anchored ships beyond the breakwater flickered with the rising surf. A long whistle wailed with anguish then died.
We clinked our glasses and drank a toast, “To Summer. May it rest in peace.” The night was young and the Arak abound in the company of lifelong friends. We drank the time away then drifted apart. Echoes of their laughter chased my crocked steps as I hurried to shelter.
It's fall, the season for a fifty year old man to feel at home. As the sun peeked shyly through the overcast sky I fetched my brown jacket with the threadbare elbow patches and my corduroy pants. I still don't need reading glasses, I prided myself, then I held my book under my arm and wandered into the park. It's my time at last.