Ineloquent.

I have that end-of-summer listless feeling. I used to associate it with the anticipation of going back to school and it was awash in barely contained excitement. The potential energy buzzed just under the stagnant, scorching surface of late August. But now the warm late summer light and vibrant colors of the season unfolding its petals before shedding them fills me with a sort of existential ennui. Gone is the romantic anxiety of beginning again - always an odd choice for the advent of autumn anyway. There's nothing to anticipate; nothing to make the brightness and heat anything more than a mockery of my internal desolation.