The Last Light of August

August proudly stepped out the door at midnight last night. If you recall, he was a bit cranky when he arrived (The Last Light of July) but, in our part of the world, he was a star. Unlike some of his other recent incarnations, he did not blanket this edge of the continent with fire and smoke. Instead, he brought foggy days that turned sunny by lunchtime (or full on sunny days) . He spared us the smokey days. Thank you, August!

And while August was strutting his stuff out the back door, September was peeking in the front door. She was gliding carefully, not wanting to upset these human spirits. She understands that people are over summer and that some people are pushing for fall’s appearance. September, however, knows that she is not the Fall. She has moments of autumn flair but, for the most part, she is the delicate and fading summer canvas. She is gingerly pulling the shade down on the days, hoping we won’t notice too much, even as she is distracting us with gifts of tomatoes and dahlias.

September has not always been one of my favorite months but the older I get, the more I welcome it. As the years go by, I more and more appreciate Virginia Woolf’s comment: “All the months are crude experiments, out of which the perfect September is made.”