Fucking September. Hot and humid one day, cold and blustery the next. Confused, spring bulbs still shoot off young blooms while old wise trees burst red before dead leaves fall silently and sad. Kids going back to school, some so excited about what's next because everything is so deeply new it must be wonderful, while others are punched in the gut to find out that there's no time anymore for lying in the grass and deciding what animal the clouds look like.
September spins my head every year. I realize, not for the first time, (wow, there's the present tense, so rarely used in our American linguistics I am reminded by friend Foster) that every time I've ever ended anything big in my life, I've ended it - wrecklesssly, for the sake of ending, for the sake of beginnning - in September.
Isn't that stupid and tragic and irrational? And beautiful? Here comes Fall. Whoa, hold on! I'm falling.
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