It was blistering hot outside; the sun, partially covered with dark, charcoal coloured clouds, scorched down on the small town of Pueblo, Colorado- curling fallen leaves inward with its intense heat, and sending those who dared to brave its rays away, scurrying for cover.
For October, it was unusually warm- even for Pueblo- and though the sun was beginning to lower itself, the temperature stayed right where it was, stifling out any welcome breeze, and soaking deep into the asphalt.
When a gale finally did manage its way through the town, it was a strong, hot gust- dry wind that left the people panting, and fanning themselves- and it was gone as quickly as it came.
Despite the ugly heat, the sky was smeared with an array of burnt, brilliant evening colours, and a flock of geese flapped lazily across the scene, migrating, not fooled by the summer-like weather.
In a moment the fowl were merely a smear on the canvas of the sky, soon disappearing like a mirage in the dusk.
Time burned away slowly, like the wick of a candle.
Cool, inky shadows grew into welcoming shade.
The day was dying.
But the hot, hot air made one's skin sticky with sweat, and the faint breeze that lingered was like a strangers breath on the back of your neck.
The town ached for moonlight- for reprieve from the blinding sun- and as the burning blaze subsided to a mild scald, which slowly became a gentle warmth, the night engulfed the town, and stomped the heat out of the ground.
Only then, when night fell, could you tell that it was Autumn.
