It was mid-August. I woke up and began my day in the usual way: Coffeeson was up first, standing outside his room saying, "Daddy? Daddy, where are you?" Glancing at the clock to make sure it was an hour when normal people are awake, I rolled out of bed to collect my toddler and to get us some breakfast.
He with his juice and Pop-Tart, and I with my coffee, I pulled up a window shade and was greeted by a realization: we were receiving our morning sun's rays from a different angle, casting the shadows of late summer. I can't really explain this; they're just different, you know? In addition to this, the clouds were a little more prominent, providing cover in a way that only begins to happen this time of year and will continue on through the next several months.
This sight made me smile, because I knew what it meant: September is coming.
September, with its ushering in of the wet and wind that causes us to dive into closets to find our sweatshirts, and every Friday evening is accompanied by marching band drums and muffled announcements over loudspeakers off in the distance. The Halloween decorations have already appeared in stores and baseball teams are on the home stretch in the playoff race while increasingly competing for time on ESPN with the start of football season. People welcome the end of mowing the lawn while perhaps also dreading the looming use of their snowblowers.
September, ushering in a season of transition that has already begun, entered into my heart in the middle of August, and I was all too happy to welcome it there. Now it officially arrives, and I am all the more joyful.