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I'm still missing the summer, but:

suddenly can't wait for it to be a chillier day, to wrap myself in a scarf and a coat, to take the train up to the dia, or out to the end of long island one day and to sit on a cold rock on a cold beach and watch the gray tide move in and out, in and out. spend a weekend day drifting among shuttered stores, sleepy neighborhood stores with handpainted signs, the smell of dampness in the air. and then to take the train back into new york, leaning against the window, and to remind myself of boston, and its wetness, and its dampness, while I'm here, watching the city grow as the train shoots towards its epicenter.