September is transition. It’s trading in floppy beach hats for jean jackets. It’s a garden gone to seed, pods hung to dry for next year’s planting. It’s herbs bundled and planters brought inside.
September is getting to work. It’s a sleepy summer moving into school days.
It’s fall cleaning, from a summer of tracking in treasures from the yard and water-logged sandals.
It’s backyard fire season. It’s having s’more ingredients stocked more than popsicles. It’s buying cider instead of lemonade.
It’s pulling out a sweater, and then another. A simultaneous relief from heat and brace for the cold. No longer can you slip outside without a coat or a care.
It’s crunchy meets cozy.
September is a pivot point, a vantage from which to both reflect on the summer and prepare for the winter.
It’s a taste of what’s to come. It’s a kind gesture from a creative God, a slow assimilation into a new season. A new mindset. If winter is a cave in which we huddle, September is a long entrance tunnel. A preparedness journey. A nudge as winter whispers it’s approach.
