Goodby September

There is no other month quite like September with its fresh light and blooming trees, yellow and purple and the greens the deepest greens before they turn or, as they often do in  Florida, just fall.

It is fall, you know, the temperature hasn't figured it out, yet, but the sky has and the young mocking birds have because they've started singing again, only this time it's fall songs, not spring.




The clouds know it's fall because they've kicked up their drama,
more decks and wisps and stacks and swirls. The sheep have returned in puffs of white. They know it's fall. The flocks return in September.

 

The water knows it's fall catching it and throwing it back, hitting me in the eye reminding me to pay tribute to this month I love so much, but somehow neglected this time around, too busy to give it its due. Good-by September I said to the sky this morning when I woke and walked out on the driveway with camera in hand. Good-by September I said to the open sky today as the bike breached the top of my favorite 429 hill, the one that takes me to far away places with bigger hills and maybe even mountains. Good-by September I said to the moon this evening as I closed the car door and looked up to see a handsome sky with just a sliver of moon cheese cut off for the children, shining so brightly on this last day of the month.

There's little left but a purple number 30 on the erasable calendar and a purple SEPTEMBER across the top waiting for a paper towel and 31 new numbers and OCTOBER. There's not much left but to finish this blog and send it to Facebook and catch at least half of the 10:00 news, and 12:01 will come while I sleep. In the morning, I'll rise to a new month and a new day for which I'm thankful, but it won't be September.

Peace. Love, Linda