Sometimes I think I can fool myself into thinking that fall isn't really here yet. There are still lots of trees whose leaves haven't turned yet. One day this week was so sunny and warm(ish) that I was tempted to wear shorts. I haven't needed a heavier jacket. The baseball season isn't over yet.
But then comes the inevitable moment when pretending cannot make it so. Yesterday I picked the last tomato, the only red, unblemished one left on the vine. I set it on the kitchen counter to rest (and warm up), putting off that inevitable moment as long as I could.
But it has finally arrived. A short time ago I stood at the kitchen sink holding the fruit in one hand and sprinkling salt with the other, biting into its soft flesh, savoring its delectable sweetness, feeling its ripe juices trickle down my arm as I lifted it to my mouth.
Summer is now officially over. The last lone tomato is gone.
