the last of the light

the last of the light

this week i noticed the small signs before anyone says it out loud — the light going a little earlier, the air holding a different kind of quiet. not sad, exactly. just aware. here's what i found on the way out of summer.

the porch

A small cream matte resin art toy figure stands with its back to camera at a screened porch door at dusk, a small cluster of moths gathered around a bare porch light against a deep blue late-summer sky.

the moths don't know summer is almost over. i didn't have the heart to tell them.

the lawn

A small cream matte resin art toy figure stands small on an open lawn at dusk, an oscillating sprinkler catching the last of the evening light nearby.

i stood just outside the reach of it, the way you do with things you know won't last much longer.

the step

A small cream matte resin art toy figure stands beside a glass mason jar holding a few glowing fireflies on a worn wooden porch step at dusk.

i let them go before it got dark. some things you're only allowed to borrow.

the driveway

A small cream matte resin art toy figure peers over a coiled garden hose on sun-warmed concrete, water droplets beading in late-afternoon light.

the concrete was still warm from a whole summer of days like this one. i wanted to remember what that felt like.

the screen door

A small cream matte resin art toy figure stands in profile beside an empty cicada shell clinging to a porch screen door in late-afternoon light.

it left the exact shape of itself behind and never came back for it. i think about that more than i should.

the swing

A small cream matte resin art toy figure stands facing forward on a porch floor at dusk, an empty porch swing gently in motion behind it against a darkening sky.

it was still moving when i turned around. i didn't need to know who left it swinging, or why summer always ends like this — quietly, when you're not looking.

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