The waiting month


September is the month of heat waves days with cool nights as possibilities that don't offer materialize. Wherefore I only find relief in the idea that fall is coming. 

The trees are still green and the sky is still blue. Snakes slither on the ground and spiders weave their intricate designs. Sidewalk cat still roams her block as the night air slowly cools the the sidewalk still warm from the day's sun. 

And I am still here. I am still here waiting for cool nights and sweaters and chai and every other cliche thing I will soon want to forget.

But for now I remember that September is the month for waiting, though not like waiting in April for spring to finally show her head. (At long last, Persephone is set free from the underworld!) No, it is a much more leisurely wait, one that is more concerned with slowness then with the hurriedness of the world. Thoughts are not consumed with garden plans or the loveliness of day trips into the sun. 

Rather we wait for the world to die and find that we do not mind the idea of it, at least for this moment. We know that feeling as autumn burns away to winter and winter finally to silence. It is that cold, white stillness that waits for us at the end. Right now it will not feel like loneliness; instead it will feel with the finality of coming home.

Fall will get here soon. Look now, for she has already begun her slow dance in the corners where we are least likely to look; the curling of the tomato leaves, the breeze in the open window, the surprise of a sun, early to bed.  September is her stepping stone.; the month that will finally guide our warm, weary bodies to fall.