I have said I did not love the month of September
but once again I stand corrected as the subdued
hum of crickets lays a smooth backdrop to this cool
morning of a day when seasons are slowly turning,
the changes small but there, slow but perceptible.
The air is fragrant with wood smoke and fallen leaves,
their crunch under my foot as pleasing to me nowÂ
as it was when my ten-year-old self trudged off to school.
Children’s voices drift by my house a happyÂ
reminder that I am not among them, shy, uncomfortable,Â
dreading the oppression of the classroom and
the alarming nature of the playground.
No, I am grown now and free to follow my
childlike heart wherever it cares to go.
Ever thankful for the turn of the seasons
the movement of years.
