My fence-sitting days are almost over. This last big weekend of the summer signals a return to the other part of the year. That part where we think in terms of Monday to Friday. When glances at clocks and calendars reflect a pattern of schedules and routines.
September is ambiguous. It’s the odour of manure mixed with sweet cotton candy and grilled onions at a fall fair, dragonfly summer afternoons melding into shivery autumn evenings. Spiders begin hanging out, dangling between branches of yellowing leaves while the weeds continue their exuberant spread beneath blowsy geraniums.
Summer use to be when I expected to indulge in all the things there was never enough time for during the other ten months. September brings the reality that it didn’t happen.
While I mourn the loss of lazy days and summer freedoms, a smidgeon of eagerness tempers their demise. At one time it was sparked by shopping for school supplies. Later, it was enthusiasm for exciting new programs and activities. Now, my writing beckons with renewed urgency. Ideas that have simmered while I summered, are exploding like fireworks. I know from experience those glittering splashes of intensity are ephemeral and I’m anxious to hunker down with my notebook and laptop to grasp what I can.
Like a mirage, September’s hazy sunshine is deceptive. When Tuesday arrives it’ll be time to get off the fence and back to work!
What does the beginning of September mean for you? Does it bring regret or anticipation?
[Note: On Sunday, I’ll be posting about fog on The Pastor’s Wife Speaks blog.]
~ ~ ~