The days run by, and suddenly it’s a month with withering flowers and changing-color leaves in it. September is still summer, as schoolchildren are forced to forget, and the days promise warmth and sunshine and a bit of sass, same as July, but night and the edge of consciousness bring a creeping coolness and an early sunset.
God says, “Don’t be afraid, I’ll paint the world with vivid colors as my promise that the sun and warmth will be returning, and in the coldest months the days will grow longer again and it will be spring and summer again before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’ or wonder what that means.”
All of that flashes through the mind when “September” appears on the calendar. It’s a bittersweet feeling, bitter because you remember how the hint of coolness turns into struggling against the snow and the sharp edges of the cold, sweet because there’s so much summer left, and after that the comforting embrace of falling leaves and matching sunsets and hordes of geese honking through the air as if to say, “See you in the springtime, friends, and thanks for watching out for our kids as they fluffed out and grew.”
Why does it have to be September? You might as well wonder why you have to live and breathe. There are cycles of warm and cold, bitter and sweet, because it’s all a cycle, all of it. Embrace the cycle and work with it and play with it; that’s the sanest way to live. Accept what you can’t change, and fight for what you can.
