I love the betwixt-and-betweenness of September. Two days from now, at exactly 10:21 am (EDT), Fall arrives in the top-half of the Earth. Beneath the conflicted blue-gray autumn skies, I find contentment –or is it atmospheric convergence?
Life’s succession of summer loves –the names, the outsized passions– unfold beneath an unremitting sun. Autumn contents itself with summoning brilliant memories. Fellow northern-climer Bertolt Brecht called September ‘the blue month’. As any falling leaf will tell you, all dreams must fade.
“And yet that cloud had only bloomed for minutes. When I looked up, it vanished on the air.”
–from Remembering Marie, Bertolt Brecht’s ‘Baal’