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There’s a chill in the air that would tell us September has come even without a calendar on the wall, or on our watch, or (these days) on our phone.
It’s easy to feel the melancholy of the season. Where did summer go? What did the dreams of days of sunshine and laughter bring?
I cannot move a mountain now;
I can no longer run.
I cannot be who I was then:
In a way, I never was.
It is easy to look back and wonder why. Yet all around is the promise of the new season, as well. The smell of Autumn promises lazy afternoons of football games and hikes among the turning leaves. Old friends new again as we head back to school, back to the routine.
This Labor Day, you may think of tributes to the working man, or you may think of the last hurrah for summer fun. I think also of this ending as a beginning:
When this begins, I’ll let you know,
September when it comes
Welcome, Autumn, September it has come.
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