September is indecisive. Yesterday talked like fall; today is acting summer. The sun is warm; the air cool. This soft green green grass feels cold through my jeans. Bees and hummingbirds zip past butterflies in this sunny garden courtyard. Lasting petals are as bright as July.
The garden smells like summer; but when I lift my eyes, tall oaks and maples remind me that it is September. Their vivid green is rusting around the edges, a process I know will soon accelerate. I adore both seasons. I am reaching for hot cocoa with one hand while I hold on to my lemonade in the other. I thirst for fall, but am not ready to let go of sweet summer. I’ll spend these last barefoot, bare neck days sipping transitional cider, hot or cold.
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