I was an intern, and it was the strangest of summers. Uncertainty ahead. Between houses. States. Not quite knowing I was about to pack my red Jeep and drive across the Continental Divide.
Photographs like these make me feel humid, you can smell the fried food of summer fairs and are deafened by the locus.
This summer’s reign was overtaken very recently. I can almost mark the date on the calender. The first clue, dry leaves crunching under my fingers from a lingering tree. The windows open. Jackets and hoodies at the coffeeshop in morning shade. Clues blaringly obvious as I lie in waiting, ready to pounce and scream “Autumn!”













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