The skin of my arms excites at morning's sudden coolness. This week heralds the end of summer, and the gooseflesh that rises at the moment I walk outside is less from the change of ambient temperature than from my delight at the coming season. I do love the fall.
An irrepressible smirk crawls over my face. A passerby probably thinks I'm
mentally unsound, but if I'm mad – by whatever standard you choose to judge it –
I'm mad from joy. I take a deep, almost shaky breath. It's good to be alive.
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