Because I was traveling, it feels like I’ve lived several versions of September already: a September of misty green hillsides, a September of shaping my mouth around the sounds of Spanish, a September of crowded airports, a September where we’re grateful that the highs in Austin are less than 100 at last, though Chris still looked at me today and said, “I am ready for this summer to be over.”
This gentle little poem from Linda Pastan’s series titled “The Months” captures the in-betweenness of September, the not-quite summer, not-quite fall feeling of suspension that finds us waiting—and wishing—for what comes next.
“the way the green
leaves cling
to their trees
in the strange heat”
