By S. E. Reid
I love September. I love the holy in-between-ness of it, the way it slinks in on tentative tiptoes. One summer day you’re over-warm and uncomfortable, and then one morning you wake up and catch a whiff of autumn.
It’s subtle, but it’s there. Just a hint.
Before living here on these five acres, my sense of the seasons was very regimented and abstract. As a teacher, September meant something very different. I still catch myself falling into those old familiar patterns, even a few years removed from my teaching days; walking through the Back To School aisles at the big stores and remembering how it felt to approach September as though I was standing in the wings, waiting for my entrance onstage. Readying the classroom. The deep breath before the storm.
Now, September feels different. There is still a sense of urgency, but it’s all centered around the need to prepare ourselves, our home, for the cold months. We’re stacking our firewood and trying to eke the last bits of goodness out of the all-too-generous garden. The tumult of apple preservation – juicing, canning, drying, freezing – is about to begin, always a sacred source of stress for me. A crucible, but one that I emerge from feeling triumphant when it goes well.
I’m thinking about fall cleaning, tidying the house ahead of the long stretch of being indoors. I’m taking stock of the pantry, the cupboards, the freezer – what are we missing? And soon we’ll be sweeping the chimney, always a messy but powerful seasonal milestone.
But for now, it’s September. And September means liminal, boundary, warm days and cool nights. Trading sandals for moccasins, moccasins for socks and rainboots. Slipping my grandmother’s coat on when I need to take the dogs outside after dark and shedding my sweater in the afternoons.
Here, in September, I’m filling my cup with the spices of the season to come, while winking back at the sweet season that brought us here.
oh darling september! teacup-steam and yellowing leaves sun-warm; summer clings to an unopened umbrella while autumn peers corner-shy yet growing bolder; september! you arrive in sweet-spice and morning shivers, you do not barrel in as some months do but tiptoe, delicate on bare and brassy feet.
