The Last Gift of Summer

Written for Advanced Composition September 2007

Sweet night has fallen over the town. Hardly a sound can be heard under the soft, black blanket. Everyone has gone to bed early tonight, anticipating the first day of the harvest season. Whirlwinds of midnight dust swirl in the alleys. Something is in the air. Something mixed in with the crisp, supple scent of fall. Faerie giggles. They float down from the stars, swim in the breeze, and dance in the streets with the smell of cooling fires and ripening apples. A cat meows shyly from a doorway. A cricket chirps in the distance. Then, all falls silent. A sudden zephyr caresses the sleeping village. The trees are tickled; the thatch is stirred. All at once, the sky seems to brighten – the fire of each star stoked and strengthened by some invisible hand. The glowing orbs shine their brilliant light on the mortal ground. But, just as quickly as it began, the enchantment of the night retreats into the heavens. The gift of a good harvest: the only sign that remains.