September

I always think the year begins on the first day of school not on January 1. It’s the time for renewal and fresh beginnings. A few new clothes, fresh blank sheets of paper and scribblers, new erasers and other supplies, run tandem with the beginning of September. That’s how I remember it.

September also holds shorter days, a more angled light, dewy mornings, cool evenings, leaves beginning to drift to the summer-worn paths and roadways, geese flying overhead like a drifting net. September is when we again don socks and comfy sweaters.

Of course, the knitting continues — perfect weather — as it rains like it’s making up for summer’s extreme heat. For me, I always associate reading — curled-up-in-a-cozy-chair-reading — to autumn and winter. Speaking of which, I will be doing a feature on some of my most memorable books. That should be showing up here in a week or two. A friend of mine has challenged me to feature seven books that I have found most memorable. Sounded like a challenge I can handle.

Flying North socks

Slippers

Wurm hat, beginnings.

With September wrapping its damp arms around me, it’s had me longing for my mother. It comes to me in whispers and often dissipates like the fog. The feeling is there, in the way things remain hidden under a veil of fog.

“A very sweet light is spreading over the Earth like perfume.  The moon is slowly dissolving and a boy-sun languidly stretches his translucent arms…Cool murmurings of pure waters that surrender themselves to the hillsides.  A pair of wings dances in the rosy atmosphere.  Silence my friends.  The day is about to begin.” — Clarice Lispector

 

“The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze. ”
—  John Updike,  September

Wishing you a week filled with cozy sweaters and the sweet breath of September.