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| Goodbye summer, and thanks for coming. |
My mother compares fall and winter in New England to living in a mitten. Set that aside for a second.
Over the weekend, I saw a woman and her two sons, around six and seven in the supermarket. The woman kept losing track of the boys as they ran up and down the aisles, darting between displays, and yelling over their shoulders to each other as if they were on a soccer field and not the coffee and cereal aisle.
The woman looked at a label and said, "Boys, don't get in people's way."
The trio was very tan and dressed like it was mid-July. Next to the pumpkin muffin display, corn stalks and bins of pumpkins, they were white pants after labor day.
That's it. It's time for summer to leave the fair. Somewhere around the Wednesday before Labor Day, even if it's still warm, the feel of summer is gone, like the mood of a party host who needs to go to bed, or a foil covered dish too far back in the refrigerator to probably still be "okay."
Considering the heady feel to summer at the outset, I'm always surprised at how the spirit of this "outside" season doesn't disappear gently, but vanishes, as if the fall will kick its ass if it's still here when fall arrives.
I say, bring it. Bring the pumpkins, bring the Halloween displays, bring the sweaters out and put the flip-flops away.
Because, finally, it's September, and oh September, I couldn't love you more.
Over the weekend, I saw a woman and her two sons, around six and seven in the supermarket. The woman kept losing track of the boys as they ran up and down the aisles, darting between displays, and yelling over their shoulders to each other as if they were on a soccer field and not the coffee and cereal aisle.
The woman looked at a label and said, "Boys, don't get in people's way."
The trio was very tan and dressed like it was mid-July. Next to the pumpkin muffin display, corn stalks and bins of pumpkins, they were white pants after labor day.
That's it. It's time for summer to leave the fair. Somewhere around the Wednesday before Labor Day, even if it's still warm, the feel of summer is gone, like the mood of a party host who needs to go to bed, or a foil covered dish too far back in the refrigerator to probably still be "okay."
Considering the heady feel to summer at the outset, I'm always surprised at how the spirit of this "outside" season doesn't disappear gently, but vanishes, as if the fall will kick its ass if it's still here when fall arrives.
I say, bring it. Bring the pumpkins, bring the Halloween displays, bring the sweaters out and put the flip-flops away.
Because, finally, it's September, and oh September, I couldn't love you more.
I love that the sun rises a tiny bit later and that early morning traffic picks up on back roads.
I love that kids of all ages have started back to school, backpacks already full of crumpled papers that parents won't see until next year.
I love that parents can linger over coffee and think full morning thoughts again.
I love that kids of all ages have started back to school, backpacks already full of crumpled papers that parents won't see until next year.
I love that parents can linger over coffee and think full morning thoughts again.
I love that we'll need jackets soon and will consider turning the heat up.
I love that we'll have fires and take out stew recipes while the sun sets.
It's early enough to shrug at the thought of snow, presents and budgets, but the spirit of holiday love is already in the air, like distant rain.
I love that we'll have fires and take out stew recipes while the sun sets.
It's early enough to shrug at the thought of snow, presents and budgets, but the spirit of holiday love is already in the air, like distant rain.
It's colder at night, but it's fall, and warm as summer inside the mitten.
I say welcome back, and have a seat. I've missed you.
I say welcome back, and have a seat. I've missed you.
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